


Glader Games

by MiaGhost



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Timeline, Anger, Angst, Betrayal, Blood, Career Tributes, Comfort, Danger, Death, Fear, Grief, Hiding, Hunting, Hurt, Killing, Loss, M/M, More Running, Newtmas moments, Protectiveness, Rebellion, Running, Running Away, Strong Bonds, Trees, Weapons, being sick, cross-over, lots of running, ohmygod the running, rule-breaking, so much running, targetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 65,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6816604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaGhost/pseuds/MiaGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas hates the Capitol. They took Chuck from his district when he was only twelve. Thomas knows if he is Reaped he'll go down fighting. His friend Newt only has one Reaping left and then he'd be forever safe. Of course, the odds are never in a Glader's favour. (RomanticNewtmas)</p><p>This Fic is being translated into German by the wonderful Mystery7! Thanks so much! :D</p><p>German Translation: http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/581369be0005be719527c14/1/Glader-Games</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Hunger Games happened every year and had done long before Thomas was born. Every year since he was twelve Thomas had stepped into that corral for the Reaping with all the other boys his age and he had crossed his fingers and held his breath as the man on the stage drew names from glass bowls.

Every year they started with the male names and since Thomas didn't have any female siblings he could breathe easy once they'd chosen the unlucky boy who would be sent up in the dreaded Box. Every year he flushed to his toes with relief, only to have the sensation chased away by the staggering guilt at feeling such a thing. It wasn't right to feel so positive and _safe_ when two people were being sacrificed to the cruel spectacle that entertained the Capitol.

And the tributes from his Glader district never won. In fact they had never, to his knowledge, done very well at all. There was a belief in his district that had so far held true every year. No-one survived a night in the Arena. It had become almost like some twisted, running joke between the districts and the Capitol. Tributes from the most prosperous districts actively sought out the Gladers that first day to ensure the rule stayed unbroken.

Last year they'd taken Chuck, and it had cemented Thomas's decision that were he ever the one whose name that man called out he'd go down fighting. Too many tributes from the Glade gave up before it had even started, knowing what they faced from the other tributes. Knowing that they'd die before the night was out because they were Gladers and no Glader had ever survived a night in the Arena.

It had been Chuck's first Reaping, and Thomas had known him since he was just a baby. Their mothers had been close and when Thomas's mother died Chuck's mother had taken him in even though she could barely feed the child she had. She had done right by Thomas and he would never forgive the Capitol from taking from her the only thing she had. Thomas could barely remember that first day. Watching Chuck's death like it meant nothing, splashed across a screen for entertainment. A simple knife. He'd been there mere moments, not even long enough to get his bearings. And another tribute had simply flicked a knife at him like it was nothing.

Thomas had blacked out not long after, wracked with guilt that he hadn't volunteered for him, his throat bloody and raw from screaming and his blood dehydrated from his tears. The curly-haired boy had been like a brother to him and he hadn't been the same since his death. He somehow knew he never would be. With Chuck had died Thomas's childlike wonder, his innocence. He was determined that some day, somehow he was going to make them pay.

Besides Chuck the only other person Thomas had to worry about being chosen was Newt, and so far he'd done okay. Newt had one year left. He was two years older than Thomas, almost eighteen, and after today he would be free from the reach of the Game Makers. They wouldn't be able to take anyone else from Thomas after today. And even if Thomas was ever Reaped he would go into the Arena safe in the knowledge that his best friend would never be sent up in that shucking Box.

They were lining up in the corrals as always, each year moving up one as they grew older. As he stepped inside the rope barrier Thomas found himself glancing over to where the youngest boys would be, an immediate stab of grief when he remembered Chuck wouldn't be there. He blinked against the burn in his eyes. He breathed out. He could feel the familiar squeeze of anxiety as the gathered people began to hush. He glanced over at Newt. The older boy was looking at him nervously but he smiled softly when Thomas caught his eye. He nodded to him, and even when the man on the stage began to speak he didn't look away. The crowd went silent.

"Welcome to the Reaping, ladies and gentlemen! How good it is to see you all again, it hardly feels like a year has gone by at all."

His grin made Thomas feel sick, and he closed his eyes, wanting it just to be over. He had a feeling of dread clawing though him and he just wanted to go home.

"Now, as many of you will know, this year's Hunger Games are very special."

Thomas barely contained his snort. Special? What could be so special about sending two children off to die? Special. Disgusting was what it was.

"Our beloved President Snow announced a few months ago that he has been blessed with a beautiful baby Granddaughter. Isn't that wonderful?" he beamed at the crowd. Nobody smiled back but he seemed not to notice.

"So, i shall stop with all the suspense! This year, instead of our usual Reaping we're going to be doing something much more exciting in celebration. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will make history. For this year's Hunger Games you will have twice the chance to represent your district! That's right! Today you have twice the odds of getting the chance to make your district proud. I will be drawing not two but _four_ names for our wonderful tributes! How fantastic is _that_ , i ask you?"

Thomas's eyes flew open, fear clutching his airways and stealing his breath. The man on stage was clapping, his gesturing arms demanding that everyone else do so too. As the crowd applauded as little as possible, Thomas fought the urge to retch. He'd thought this yearly horror couldn't get worse. And yet it just had.

"So! Let us begin!"

He walked over towards the two square tables with their two large glass bowls. He smiled winningly at the cameras.

"Such a special occasion we'll do ladies first, no?"

His long, bony fingers dipped into the bowl, skimming over the many little folded squares before striking deep in the middle. The action was so sudden it made Thomas shiver. It was like watching a snake strike. The hand drew out two pieces of paper, and the existing silence of the square they were gathered in seemed to deaden even further. He opened one out with a flourish, smiling as though announcing the winner of a magnificent prize.

"Teresa Agnes!"

As the forced applause rolled around the area a tall, lean girl walked towards the stage. She had a mane of thick dark hair and the most startlingly blue eyes Thomas had ever seen. Thomas could hear her mother wailing from the crowd. He knew her, vaguely. She was in some of his classes at the district school. He felt sorry for her as he watched reach the man on stage. She looked so young, but he knew she was his own age.

"Brenda Jorge!"

Not that name Thomas definitely knew, and he watched the pixie-like form separate from the hugging arms of the girls surrounding her. She had short, dark hair and light brown eyes that were intense and alive in her tanned face. Brenda was popular. She was _nice_. She had always been nice to Thomas, smiled at him when she went past. He'd harboured a crush on her for the longest time. It was upsetting to see her without her beautiful smile in place. She looked so small and tiny that he wanted to hug her and make it better. The man was moving towards the other glass bowl. Thomas held his breath and closed his eyes.

"And now, our gentlemen! Which of you will be representing your district?"

He could hear the barely-there rustle as the man's hand swept through the papers, heard the faint clink of his sleeve buttons on the rim as he drew back. He heard the first paper unfold. He heard the man take the breath to call the name that stopped his heart.

"Newton Isaacson!"

_No._

"No!"

The whole gathering were silent, looking at him. Thomas realised he'd left the corral, two Peacekeepers appearing beside him menacingly. He hadn't meant to scream out but apparently he had. He looked at Newt, saw the way those liquid brown eyes were watching him like he'd never see him again and he choked out the words he never thought he'd have to say.

"I volunteer as tribute."

A rash of whispering blazed through the gathered crowd. He watched Newt shaking his head and drawing in a harsh breath. Such a thing was not against the rules, but it never happened in the Glade. Gladers were on their own. As tight knit a community as they were, when it came to the Reaping it was all you. The man on the stage blinked at him, surprised. It took him a moment to register Thomas's words before he grinned as though something magical had happened. He gestured to the cameras.

"Well look at this, ladies and gentlemen! I told you we'd be making history! Come on up, my boy! What's your name?"

Thomas's feet moved without thought as he made his way to the stage.

"Thomas Green."

His own voice surprised him, dry and rasping. He swallowed to try and wet his throat. It didn't work.

"Well, Thomas. What you just did is practically unheard of in Glader history. Tell me son, i'm curious. He doesn't look much like a brother. Why did you do it?"

He held his microphone down to Thomas's face, his eyes practically glittering with excitement. Thomas thought of all the reasons. Many of them he couldn't say for fear of getting his district into trouble. His eyes settled on Newt, who was standing one step out of his own corral, his dark brown eyes staring right at him and his expression pained.

"He's my friend."

At that there was real applause, his district showing their support in a rising wave of noise. People shouted out incoherently. Several people whistled. It made Thomas want to throw up again. He felt fuzzy, almost as though he were dreaming, or swimming through fog. He could hear the man talking again, and then he was opening that other square and laughing in surprise.

"Well, Thomas. Looks like you may be unable to volunteer. See here? What are the chances of that, ladies and gentlemen? Astounding!"

He waved a small square of paper in front of Thomas's nose, upon which he could see the letters of his own name. His stomach dropped and he fell back to earth with a crash, his eyes flicking up to meet the secretive green ones of the man.

"Wait- No, can't you draw again?" his eyes darted to Newt and back, pleading. "Please?"

The man looked thoughtful, but then beamed and placed the papers down upon the table dramatically. Thomas felt relived already. He knew the man would shoot for showmanship, the _drama_ of it.

"For you, Thomas, i just might."

His hand skimmed the papers again, toying with one and then the other, a showmanship that set Thomas's teeth on edge even as he allowed the feeling of relief to well up inside him. It didn't matter now, Newt was safe. Newt would never be corralled again, never have to fear the Reaping. He closed his eyes, relaxing.

The man opened the paper up, and lifted his microphone. Thomas was ready for it to be over. He'd accepted it. It couldn't be changed. He just wanted to get into the Arena and find a way to say _fuck you_ to the Capitol in large letters.

"Jeffrey-"

"I volunteer!"

Thomas's heart dropped. _No._ He opened his eyes to glare at Newt, watching his only real friend in the world stride towards the stage without waiting for permission. He wanted to die. This wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't allowed to happen! He glared at Newt even as he felt his eyes burn with tears.

"NO! You can't do that, it's-"

"Well, well, well!" the grating voice cut him off as though he hadn't even spoken, "Ladies and gentlemen i am _speechless_! Two Volunteers in one day! I can't quite believe it!"

Thomas thought he really didn't need to look so pleased with himself. The man's cheshire cat grin was sickening.

"So we know why Thomas volunteered, but Newton tell me, why did you?"

Thomas could see it written all over the man's face. He was basking in the attention, knowing everyone would be watching him in his shitty district _making history_. Thomas scowled.

"Well, we do everythin' together."

Newt's accented voice was honey, and Thomas sighed as his stomach flipped. It wasn't fair. Even as he looked up at his friend's brown eyes and felt guilty at the tiny part that loved having him near, Thomas wanted to cry. He was going to have to find a way to keep Newt alive. It was his only option now. Having a Glader survive that first night would be the first part of his _fuck you_ to the Capitol.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas blew out a long breath and stared up at the ceiling. He resisted the urge to shift position again. He knew if he started to fidget he wouldn't stop and he knew Chuck's mother Mary would only be more upset to see how afraid he was. He could hear Newt fidgeting, bouncing his knee with nervous energy. He wanted to be angry at him but he couldn't really get a proper handle on anything other than fear right now.

"You shouldn't have done that." he hissed eventually, when he could hear Newt biting his nail.

He looked over, confirming he was right. Newt was biting a thumbnail, his other hand jiggling on his knee. His dark eyes flicked over to meet Thomas's. Newt looked calmer than Thomas felt, but Thomas wasn't fooled. Newt was the best person he knew at hiding his emotions. He'd had to learn fast, living in the worst part of their district. Especially as an outsider, even though he was born there. It was the rarest thing to have people move into a district.

You were born there and you died there - unless the Games got you- so when Newt's parents had appeared one day the district had pretty much had a social heart-attack. The accent was the icing on the cake. Newt was teased and picked on a lot when they were little. Newt was willowy and scrawny, but he knew the blonde was scrappy. And he was _fast_. Thomas's heart squeezed painfully hard in his chest when he realised that those were things they would have to count on in the Arena.

Thomas had been managing to keep everything in line until that moment. But the thought of Newt in one of those Arenas made Thomas's throat constrict. He felt his eyes burn and he felt sick. Newt blinked at him, and Thomas could see the fear that was hiding in his eyes. Thomas swallowed.

"You-" he couldn't say any more for fear of his voice breaking and his tears spilling. He looked away. He twisted his hands together, his nails biting into his skin. He let out his breath in a shaky stream. They'd bring Mary any minute and he had to keep it together. She was practically the only family he had, and she was the soft-hearted type.

She was a seamstress in the middle of their district. She was better off than those in the slumming part but only barely. She'd taken Thomas in with no hesitation whatsoever, and she got by by being a kind-hearted person. She had many friends in the district and had relied upon them in some of her tightest winters, not that she had ever liked to. Thomas couldn't help the morbid thought that her life would be that bit more comfortable if she didn't have to feed Thomas.

"If you think i could watch you march on in there on my behalf ya got another thing coming."

Newt sounded odd, and Thomas looked at him. The blonde was looking at him with a familiar frown between his eyes and Thomas frowned back, finally managing to reach the frustration in his gut.

"You had one more year. _One_ more. Fuck!"

Thomas threw his hands up, feeling the anger trickle into his system. _One More Year!_ He glared at his friend, a part of him knowing he shouldn't be angry but the rest of him fizzing. He'd kept Newt safe. He _had_. He'd volunteered and ensured Newt would never set foot in an Arena and the blonde had thrown it aside and jumped into trouble anyway.

"You never had to go. You were free and clear. You were _safe_ , Newt! I-"

He looked away furiously, trying to cool the rising emotions. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't. He dug his nails further into his skin, trying to hold onto the sting of pain to ground him.

"What good would that do if _you_ were in the Arena?"

Thomas jumped at the force in Newt's voice and he looked back at him, shocked. Newt was so quiet, so calm and relaxed and nice. He'd never snapped at Thomas, not once in the years they'd known each other. Thomas had seen him angry less than a dozen times, and _never_ at Thomas. He gaped, watching the play of unfamiliar anger across his features.

Newt seemed to come to himself then, and he looked away to glare at the wall, crossing his arms hard and forcing his knee still. Thomas blinked, swallowed the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He felt the want to cry double. He felt guilty and he didn't know why.

"Newt…"

The other boy closed his eyes and slumped, defeated. He'd never been good at staying annoyed, especially not with Thomas, and it seemed he was the same with anger. When he spoke his words were quiet and heavy in his whispered voice. He sounded defeated, and it was horrible.

"Why did you do it? You didn't know he was going to shout your name next. You had to think you might be safe."

Newt turned liquid brown eyes on him and Thomas knew he couldn't lie. He'd never been able to lie to Newt, not properly. He felt uncomfortable with the truth though. How did you explain to your best and only real friend that you'd volunteered to die for him because the thought of his not being safe was worse than any thoughts of what the Careers could do to you?

He just looked back at him, watching as a tear welled up and streaked down Newt's cheek. It didn't look as if the blonde had even noticed he was crying. Thomas felt his own eyes watering.

"Because you had _one year_ left. This was the last time- the last time they could take you and when he said your name it wasn't even a choice."

Thomas knew his words were ridiculously soppy, he knew he sounded like a foolish girl and yet he couldn't help it. It was the truth. He hadn't made a conscious decision. It had been automatic and impulsive. His brain hadn't caught up yet but his heart was right there and he had called out. And he didn't regret it, not even a little.

Newt closed his eyes and turned his face away. His head fell back against the panelled wall behind them, the high blonde curls flattening in a way that made Thomas feel odd and twisty inside.

"I can't believe you'd do that. What if you hadn't been the second name? What if ya could've been safe?"

Thomas snorted, surprised that he found the thought almost funny.

"So what if i could've?"

Newt looked at him again with those sad eyes.

"I'd still have done it." Thomas murmured. Newt looked surprised, and then he looked guilty and confused. Thomas knew the feeling. He sighed.

"Why?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? Thomas turned away, copying Newt's motion, his head against the cold wooden wall. Newt was his friend. That's what he'd told that horrid Ratty looking man on the stage. Newt was his friend. He was his best friend. Thomas liked people. He'd been a child with an open heart, the kind of kid who liked everybody and got on with anybody who spoke to him. He'd very quickly learned that that came with a price in the Glade.

Between his district and the Hunger Games Thomas had lost too many people. His baby sister died from a toddler's disease the basic medics in the Glade couldn't work out. His father had died in the fields from a farming accident. His mother had gotten sick and couldn't afford the medicine she needed to get better. Two boys he had been close to at school had been taken by the Games. Chuck had been Reaped and killed.

Thomas had reached thirteen, his mother was dead and the Games had taken Winston and he realised he couldn't take it anymore. He took every loss hard and besides Chuck and Mary Thomas had cut off everyone. Or at least he had tried to.

Newt Isaacson was a whole other matter. Thomas had connected with the boy when they were younger and it had stuck.

Thomas was six and Newt was two years older and they may never have even crossed paths if it weren't for the large empty field besides the orchard. Thomas had snuck away from home. His mother was grief-stricken about the death of his sister and Mary and his father were with her. Chuck was only a toddler and Thomas didn't want to be around him knowing he wouldn't see his sister reach that age.

He'd bumped into Newt when he was wandering in the field and one thing had lead to another and he had spilled the whole story. Newt had from that day one become almost like an older brother to Thomas and the two boys had become very close friends. When Thomas cut everyone off years later he found he couldn't do it with Newt.

He hadn't wanted to but he had tried, going days avoiding Newt and replying noncommittally when the blonde tried to ask him about it. Eventually Newt had collared him, dragging him all the way across the village to the field and demanding an explanation. They had come out the other side stronger than ever and Thomas had realised that what Newt had done for him had saved him from a depressing and lonely existence.

It had seemed fitting that when they first became friends Thomas hadn't given up, doggedly following the older boy around and when he had tried distancing himself Newt had replied in kind, determinedly insisting Thomas couldn't shut him out.

Why? Thomas couldn't answer that easily. It was a multi-pronged answer. Newt was the most important person in Thomas's life, even more so than Mary. He was the only person Thomas could talk to, the only person he had who listened.

The fact that Thomas was completely in love with him probably had something to do with it too.

"Because i couldn't live with myself if i hadn't." he murmured without opening his eyes. He could hear Newt moving, felt the shift as the blonde sat down right beside him. He wasn't touching him but Thomas could feel the heat from his friend. He opened his eyes and looked sideways at him. Newt was looking at his feet, his head down-turned. Thomas let his gaze track the parts of his face that he could see, lingering on the prominent line of his jaw.

"You shouldn't have volunteered, Newt. I made sure you'd be safe. This was your last year, i made _sure_ …"

He swallowed back the things that jumped to his tongue, the words he couldn't let out.

"Why did you have to go and jump in too? You were _safe_ , no more Reapings…"

He forced out a breath in frustration, banging his head back against the wall, and then he turned his face towards the boy at his side, feeling sick.

"Damn it Newt, you were _safe_!" he hissed.

Newt lifted his head and turned it a little, but he didn't look at him. Thomas wanted to scream, and at the same time he wanted to curl up and cry. And then Newt looked up at him, and Thomas wanted to kick himself for his temper.

"But _you_ weren't, Tommy. How could i watch you go in there for me?"

Thomas met his eye and saw the guilt and sorrow and he felt like an awful human being. Of course Newt would react like that. He was such a caring, loving person. Of course he'd feel like it was all his fault.

"I wanted to. You were going to be safe forever."

Newt looked away again, at the wall, at his hands. His voice was very small and unsure when he spoke again.

"What good is that without you?"

Thomas just looked at him, his mouth gold-fishing as he watched Newt play with his hands and felt his heart thudding hard. The blonde shrugged, the sparkle of tears falling on his cheeks.

"I couldn't sit here knowin' you were out there, _watching_ you… Seein' _that_ …"

His familiar frown was firmly in place and he wiped at his cheeks in an annoyed manner. Thomas felt a lump in his throat.

"Newt…"

"Tommy, if you go, i go. It was as simple as that."

Thomas was at a loss. He wanted to comfort Newt but he worried the other boy would shrug him off. He swallowed, the lump in his throat taunting him.

"Newt…"

The door banged open and a blonde-haired young woman strode in. She had the same cheekbones as Newt, the jawline and the willowy figure. But in place of the dark brown eyes gleamed cornflower blue orbs. They were set, but glimmered with tears. She marched right over to them and Newt rose to meet her.

"Sonya…"

She threw her arms around her younger brother, holding him tight. Thomas looked away, feeling uncomfortable at the shocked and broken look on Newt's face. His stomach roiled and he wondered how annoyed the mayor would be if he was sick all over the carpet. He jumped when Sonya pulled him into a hug, and he hugged her back as he felt her tears hit his shoulder. At his look when he drew back she gave a watery smile.

"Thank you, for what you did. I know you didn't do it to be thanked, but i am grateful."

Thomas felt himself blushing and he looked away uncomfortably. Sonya pressed her hands on his shoulders and raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. A Peacekeeper poked his head around the door.

"Miss Isaacson."

Sonya stepped back with a sad smile, brushing Newt's fringe from his face. As she turned to leave she was crying silently. When she reached the door a strange expression crossed her face and she bit her lip.

"You boys be safe, okay? Take care of each other."

His voice wavered and then she was gone. Thomas's heart hurt when he heard her sobs from the corridor. And then Mary appeared in the doorway and his stomach turned cold. She looked a lot like Chuck. Her curly brown hair was shoulder length and her eyes were the exact same shade of hazel. She was stoic and dry-eyed but Thomas could see the pain on her face. She considered him a son, and the Games were taking him like they had Chuck. He swallowed.

"Hey, Mary."

She drew him close, her chin brushing his shoulder as she raised on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Thomas felt his eyes tearing up again but he fought the feeling. She stepped back to look at him, her hands brushing down his arms. She squeezed his hands and met his eye.

"You did an incredibly brave thing up there, Thomas." her eyes flicked briefly to Newt, who smiled wryly at her. "I know it didn't work out the way you hoped, but i want you to know your mother would have been so proud of you. Your father too."

Thomas was really crying now, and Mary looked like she was close to breaking. She drew him into another hug, rubbing her hand in soothing circles on his back like she had when he used to cry over his mother.

"I'm proud of you, Thomas Green. You try your best to keep safe, okay?"

It seemed like such a futile thing but he promised anyway. She left when the Peacekeeper came for her, and when she closed the door behind her Thomas began to sob properly, feeling the hopelessness of what was going to happen to them rising in his stomach. Newt put an arm around him and tugged him into a rough hug.

They stood like that for a while, both of them crying and the other pretending they weren't.


	3. Chapter 3

"…so why don't we get straight into details, hmm? We'll sort out things like whether you want to be trained together or by yourself. We usually train together so that our Tributes can help each other out. That gives the Glade a much better chance of having a successful Hunger Games, but of course it is your individual choice to-"

"You _are_ joking, right?"

Thomas looked up from the mug in his hands as the new voice spoke. Brenda was tossing a glare between the ratty-looking Janson and the dark-skinned woman who had been assigned to guide them in lieu of a previous winner. Their district never won and the woman's presence was just a depressing reminder that they were all doomed. Janson frowned, as though a small child had said something out of turn when he was telling a story.

"I really don't believe i know what you mean. It's very much your own choice, but we'd much prefer to train you together to maximise-"

"We're not going to _win_." Brenda spat incredulously, her eyes full of disbelief as she laughed sourly. "Let's be realistic here!"

Thomas looked at her, knowing she was right and yet wanting not to think about it. He had to get Newt through this, get him out the other side and back to the Glade so that Sonya wasn't left alone. He knew their odds. He'd been forced to watch a pair of his fellow Gladers die every year of his life, a long progressional line of doomed children. He wouldn't let Newt be one of them. He _couldn't_.

"Well, that's a very negative attitude to have. If we work together on _plans_ and such and get your training in ord-"

"Oh, and i suppose we're just to listen to you, because of course you _know_ what you're talking about." snapped Teresa.

Thomas didn't know much about the blue-eyed girl beyond the knowledge that if prodded she responded with a fierce temper. It was amusing to watch the man squirm in surprise, obviously uncomfortable with the hostility. Thomas wondered benignly if other Gladers had been openly hostile or whether they'd just gone along with it because they knew they didn't have a chance. He wondered what Chuck had done, and then he couldn't stand to think about it any more because of the way his insides burned with a dangerous concoction of guilt and grief. For the first time, the woman spoke up.

"Well, of course we know what we're talking about, dear. This is what we _do_ -"

"Yes, and you do it _so well_. I mean, Gladers win every other year, don't they, _dear_?"

Her words were hard and sharp and Thomas could feel the confidence simply draining away from the two adults who were sitting so uncomfortably in their seats and exchanging awkward looks. Despite the humourless situation they had found themselves in, watching them squirm and feel out of sorts gave him a dark satisfaction.

"Well, there are many different ways to win, and there are many districts to-"

Teresa snorted, dropping backwards in her armchair in a loose-limbed manner that screamed contempt. Her attitude was dangerous, Thomas thought. But she hadn't said anything that he himself could dispute.

"To hunt Gladers down like game, we know."

Her dark gaze swept the other tributes, stopping for a moment on Thomas before she pushed herself out of the chair.

"You losers can do whatever you like. I'm not interested in group therapy, thanks."

With that she was out of the carriage room and making her way down the hall and out of sight. Thomas didn't blame her. He could feel the irrational and suffocating claustrophobia ballooning inside of him and he was holding the temptation to throw a temper tantrum at bay by sheer will. With a disgusted snort, Brenda stood up and followed after her without a word, tossing a glance back over her shoulder at them as she kicked the door closed.

Thomas looked at Newt beside him. The blonde looked uncomfortable, and when he met Thomas's gaze he could see the depth of it in his eyes. He smiled wryly at him and Newt returned it automatically. Bizarre as he was, Thomas knew Newt was feeling uncomfortable because of the situation, because of how _rude_ he'd found Teresa's and Brenda's reactions. Thomas suddenly really wanted to laugh. Newt's familiar frown formed softly on his face and Thomas knew the blonde knew he wanted to laugh, of course he shucking did, Newt knew everything. He rolled his eyes, but he didn't laugh.

"Well. I _was_ going to say there are lots of other districts to learn from, but uhhm, well."

The man looked severely put out, and Thomas couldn't even feel bad about the little twist of pleasure he took from it. Newt sighed beside him and Thomas knew before he spoke that he was going to be the diplomatic one as always.

"About trainin' together, what exactly do ya mean by that?"

Janson perked up, so obviously grasping at the chance to spout his nonsense that Thomas began to resent him more. Until now he'd reasoned that the man was from the Capitol and that his brain just worked differently like Newt had once told him. He didn't understand the horror of the Games because he didn't view the district children as real people, and he'd been spoon-fed the klunk that the yearly Games tried to feed to them. That being chosen for the Games was something to be proud of, envious of. That fighting for the honour of your district was a privilege. Janson didn't see it as the death sentence that it was for kids like Thomas. His stomach turned. Kids like Newt.

Newt didn't have a violent bone in his body and Thomas _knew_ it. He knew it as more than just _knowing_ , like he knew the blonde liked pancakes but wouldn't admit to it because he thought he should be more mature than that. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat, like how he anticipated how his insides would react every morning, when he saw Newt for the first time in hours. He _felt_ the knowledge weighing heavy on him like a second skin, trying to suffocate him. He didn't have a clue how he was going to keep him safe, only that _he was_.

"Oh! It's simple, really. We offer our tributes the choice of going through the training process on their own or with each other. It gives you the chance to keep anything you are particularly good or bad at secret as long as possible, just as we try to from the other districts. Sometimes our tributes decide that they'll be branching out on their own and want to train that way from the beginning. When that is the case we would each take responsibility for that single tribute, myself the boy and Miss Crawford here the girl. Obviously this year we have four of you, but we can still work out individual schedules just the same."

He looked between them expectantly, and Thomas could see how relieved he was to have them still sitting there. He looked like this was fun, like it was all just a game, and Thomas wanted to follow the girls' lead just to irk him. But he also needed as much as he could get of their information and, god forbid, their _help_ to give him the best chance at keeping Newt safe as long as possible. Newt answered before Thomas got the chance.

"No secrets here, right Tommy?"

The blonde turned to him, and Thomas couldn't see the slightest doubt in Newt's eyes that Thomas would want to be trained as a pair. He did have a little uncertainty in his faint smile and it made Thomas want to reach out and reassure him. He grinned perhaps a little too widely when he nodded. Thomas was going to be there through this whole thing, as long as he could be.

"Right. We train together."

Newt flashed Thomas a warm, relieved smile before he looked back at the man. Thomas ached inside. Janson clapped his hands, looking eager to move on, and Thomas felt his hatred sizzle. The guy was finding this whole thing much too enjoyable. The woman got up and headed towards the Food Carriage again, probably realising she had nothing to do now that the girls had disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training Days

Thomas looked out over the room, trying his best to take everything in. Newt was perched on a high counter beside him, three or four feet above the floor. They had avoided the other tributes so far, wandering through some of the survival stalls as encouraged by Janson and Crawford. They hadn't really tried anything, keeping quiet and trying to just blend into the background. Now they were off to one side, trying their best to pick out the tributes who looked like they'd give them the most trouble. It was a depressingly long list.

He looked up at Newt, feeling his heart sinking at the thought that any one of those other teenagers would hurt him. Newt was sitting there as though it were the most natural thing in the world, one leg tucked under the other thigh as the other leg swung gently back and forth the way a little kid's would. He had the thumb of one hand in his mouth and he was nibbling on the nail in that way he had when he was nervous, or thinking. His hair was fluffy from the hairdryer in their suite and glinting golden under the harsh fluorescent lights. Thomas could look at him forever, and it still wouldn't be long enough before they were thrown into the Arena. The very real possibility that he may lose Newt had been clinging to him since the Reaping.

The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind of new things, and Thomas was desperate for some stability, something familiar and concrete to hold onto. He had Newt, and even though if given the chance he'd send him home safe in a heartbeat he couldn't deny that the blonde's company was the only thing keeping him sane.

"What about her?"

Newt's quiet question shook Thomas out of his reverie, and he followed Newt's line of sight. A tall, narrow-eyed girl was leaning against one of the metal pillars in the cavernous room, her arms crossed across her chest as she listened to the smaller boy beside her. Her hair was the reddest Thomas had ever seen, the orange of carrots, and curled free around her head in a deceptively soft manner. Her eyes were hard, and she looked as if she was only half paying attention to the expressive other half of her conversation, too busy staring at a broad-shouldered boy with short brown hair and scary-looking eyebrows that Thomas and Newt had instantly agreed looked like a deadly Career. Thomas took her in, letting his gaze travel from her hair right down to her toes. He noticed that even though she looked as though she was relaxing against the pillar she was poised on the balls of her feet as though ready for anything. He hummed under his breath.

"Yeah. She looks like one to watch."

Newt hummed in agreement before he sighed, leaning back on his hands and dropping his other leg down. He swung his feet steadily, drumming his heels back against the steel counter in an odd rhythm.

"They _all_ do. This is buggin' ridiculous, tryin' to pick out the kids we think have the best chance at killing us. It's sick."

Even though he hated it, Thomas knew Newt was right. He shrugged, looking up at his friend and wishing he had something to say that would bring him out of the slump he was in.

"The whole thing is sick. A punishment for the actions of people a hundred years ago, who only wanted fair treatment. The people the Capitol were mad at aren't even alive to be punished any more."

Newt shot him an anxious sideways glance.

"Hush, Tommy!" He glanced around nervously. "Don't say things like that!"

Thomas rolled his eyes and turned back to the room. He knew Newt was right. Newt was always right.

"Sorry." he murmured after a moment. He heard Newt hum again. This _sucked_. It made Thomas so angry and so afraid that he didn't know what to do. He didn't feel safe in his own head, and it scared him.

"What about her little guy? People always underestimate the little ones."

The boy beside Red, as Thomas had labelled her in his head, was tiny in comparison to her lean figure. He was average looking, maybe sixteen like Thomas, maybe younger. He had short, black hair and eyes so green that Thomas could see them all the way across the room. The boy was smiling, chatting away to the girl who was ignoring him, his hands moving at his sides as he spoke. Something about him made Thomas feel sick. He just looked like a little kid. He made him think of Chuck, and that made everything worse. Thomas looked away.

"He's just a kid."

He could hear Newt moving, changing position on his perch.

"We're all just kids, Tommy."

Weren't they just. Thomas sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. It was barely after lunch and he was already exhausted. There were so many people in the one place that he couldn't relax, afraid if he did something horrible would happen before they even got into the Arena.

"He doesn't look all that dangerous." he tried, looking back over at the slight figure. "But i guess he could be fast, possibly knives? Maybe a bow?"

Newt nodded, his eyes skimming over the other tributes. _Too many_ , Thomas thought. _Too many by far_. The blonde went over what they had so far.

"So we have Red, Forehead, Shoulder-Man-"

Thomas was ticking them off in his head as his friend spoke, his gaze finding the red-haired girl, and a tall dark-skinned boy who looked like he never did anything but frown threateningly, and the large boy Red had obviously picked out too. He snorted in surprise, glancing up at his best friend in amusement.

" _Shoulder-Man_?"

Newt shrugged, smiling a little sheepishly. He spread his hands as he spoke.

"What? The kid looks like he _erects_ _walls_ for a hobby. _Jeez_."

Despite the direness of their situation, despite the fact that they were picking out foes to avoid, Thomas sniggered. Newt looked down at him with an accomplished sly grin, obviously pleased he'd made him laugh. For some reason that just made it funnier. Thomas chortled into his hand, not wanting to draw attention. He waved a hand in Newt's direction as though swatting the blonde's words away.

"You're _the worst_." he wheezed, and Newt only chuckled.

"And yet ya love me anyway."

Thomas rolled his eyes and reached up to punch the older boy's thigh, laughing when he squirmed away and almost lost his balance.

"Oi!" he pouted, throwing Thomas a ridiculously wounded look.

Thomas shrugged, grinning sunnily and sticking his tongue out at him. Newt heaved a long-suffering sigh and settled back down into his previous position. Thomas leaned against the counter-side and tried to settle down again.

"Okay, so _Shoulder-Man_. Can't we just call him eyebrows? He looks like shucking _Satan_ over there with his knife and his forked tail."

Newt rolled his eyes but smiled. He couldn't help but smile when Thomas said ridiculous things. The brunette had a wicked sense of humour but he so rarely used it.

"Okay, okay, ya buggin' loony. Red, Forehead, Satan. Who else?"

Thomas scanned again. His eyes landed on a pair of girls their own age who were sparring on one of the blue mats. They had gathered a small audience, and the fight looked intense despite the practice nature of it and the rules against actual fighting just yet. They were barely touching each other, making minimum contact as they ducked and wove in obviously practiced patterns. The darker skinned girl with all the little pleats in her hair suddenly dropped into a roll, flowing to her feet behind her cinnamon-haired companion in an apparent effort to catch her from behind.

The other girl caught the movement and spun, doing a bizarre three-step skip until she was out of reach. She knocked the girl on the neck with her pole, and they grinned as each other as their fight ended. Several of the tributes surrounding them applauded. The winner offered her hand, hauling what looked to be her District-mate up to her feet. They were both panting, sweating under the lights as they shook hands and gave back their sparring poles. They didn't seem at all phased by the implications of such a battle. Thomas felt uneasy when he looked at them.

"What about Braids and Blondie?"

Newt harumph'd and shot Thomas a skeptical look when he turned to him.

"What? They look dangerous."

" _Blondie_?" Newt's voice was painted with an exaggerated offended tone. Thomas blushed.

"Well, it's not _Blonde,_ but it's not really ginger either, is it?" he tried feebly.

Newt just snorted, one hand running through his own hair absently. He gave Thomas a haughty look.

" _Blondie._ Tsk."

Thomas shrugged, feeling silly.

"Well, what do you want from me? _Cinnamon_?"

Newt barked a startled laugh, covering his hand as his wide eyes snapped to Thomas properly. It was a long moment of sniggering before Newt could reply. When he did so he wheezed, the words enfolded in his mirth.

" _Cinnamon?_ " he sniggered, his eyes delighted as he looked at Thomas squirm. "Oh, don't be gettin' all _romantic_ on me, Tommy. Cinnamon? _Man_."

Thomas scowled, his face flushed and his arms crossed. Newt just sniggered again, laughter painting his skin a pale pink and lighting up his face in a way that made Thomas's heart skip pleasantly, not that it showed.

"Cinnamon." the blonde repeated in an amused tone, looking back over at the two girls. "Yeah, i can see that. Okay. Braids and Cinnamon. Check. Next?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, still feeling warm from his friend's teasing as he looked over them all again, trying as hard as he could not to allow the sheer number bother him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awaiting their Flickerman interviews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Author's Note: For those who have commented and asked about Minho, i can confirm that Yes, he will be making an appearance once the boys are thrown into the Arena! I've already skipped ahead and written his entrance, and several scenes with him, so i hope when we eventually get to them they live up to expectation!
> 
> Thanks to those who have reviewed so far! Comments make my day!  
> Happy Reading!

Thomas was trying hard. He _was_. But lining up like sheep, dressed in ridiculously fancy clothes so that some Capitol freak could ask him mindless questions before they threw him to the wolves was not his idea of fun. He had suffered through the ministrations of his "Prep Team" in relative silence, doing his best to keep his snarling to a minimum. He'd been shaved, scoured raw from head to toe, polished and plucked and brushed and doused in so many stupid-smelling concoctions that his head hurt.

When they'd finally ceased the torture in the bathroom they had returned him to his bedroom with a flourish so that some bizarrely-dressed woman could begin her own form of torture. The whole thing had taken hours and Thomas was sure he had been traumatised by it all. He was decked out in a strange, shimmery material that was admittedly soft against his still tender skin. The prep team had bickered over it an unbelievable amount, and Thomas had found it difficult to conceive just how much they seemed to value klunk like what colour he wore, how his hair sat, the way they rounded his nails. It was downright sickening.

In the end they'd agreed, setting to work like a bizarrely well-oiled machine, and Thomas had closed his eyes and done his best to survive it. As he joined the growing line of tributes and found his district's spot halfway down he looked down at the shades of pale blue they'd finally settled on, claiming it matched his skin tone and made his eyes "pop". Apparently a lighter, "cool" colour made his hair look better, "warmer", however the shuck that worked. It was all matched, from a medium blue in his trousers to the cornflower of his jacket and the duck egg of his shirt. He sighed and deliberately leaned against the wall of the corridor they were waiting in. The prep team had reminded him several times as he was leaving _not_ to wrinkle his suit jacket by brushing against the wall. He was smiling to himself as he imagined how annoyed they'd be when he felt a hand brush his arm. He looked up in surprise.

"Hey Tom. Looks like we match, huh?"

Teresa stood beside him, looking at him with a wry sort of smile. Her dark hair had been teased and tamed, half of it pinned back loosely and the under-layer floating around her shoulders like dark sea water. Thomas saw that her own prep team had done an amazing job with her, as much as he hated the shallowness of it. The dress they'd put on her clung to her lean form in a way that made her look _gorgeous_. It hung from one shoulder, dipped into a sharp neckline, brushed her hips and dropped down, slitted on one side to reveal a daring amount of creamy pale skin. The fabric was glittering as she moved, the exact sapphire shade of her eyes. Teresa caught him looking and looked up at him slyly from under smokey grey eyelids and long black lashes. Her smile widened coyly.

"Like what you see?" she teased, and Thomas couldn't think of a response because her cavalier attitude was so unexpected. He felt himself blush as he watched her flutter her eyelashes suggestively.

Teresa sniggered, leaning against the wall beside him and scuffing the toes of one blue high-heeled shoe along the concrete floor in a long, elegant motion. Thomas raised his eyebrows as he finally found the ability to speak.

"If your team are anything like mine, I doubt they'd be happy to see how you're treating their precious shoes."

Teresa laughed out loud, a proper laugh that contrasted vastly with her harsh snigger from before. She looked up at him again with gleaming eyes and he laughed too, the mischievous twinkle putting him at ease.

"You have no idea. I bet that no matter what they did to you mine were a hundred times worse." She laced her voice with a heavy Capitol accent, wrinkling her nose. " _Terreeeeesa playyz, daahh-ling. Do stennd steel_."

Thomas covered his laugh with a cough, unable to hide his startled grin. Teresa looked pleased, repeating her leg motion with the other foot.

"What's all the hilarity about? And is that _Thomas Green_? Actually laughing? My My, the Games do wonders for a boy's disposition, huh?"

Thomas looked up in to see the girl standing before him and he straightened automatically. Brenda grinned at him, moving closer to stand as the third point of their little triangle. Teresa sniggered again.

"You'd think he'd never seen a girl in a dress before the way he _stares_ , oh dear me."

She sounded awfully put out, winking at Brenda when the shorter girl giggled. Brenda had been dressed in a deep orange dress that ruffled low on her shoulders, curled at the neckline and sectioned into a bodice, a hint of a hip to it. Where Teresa's dress was clingy and sparkly Brenda's was light and floaty, reaching just below her knees at the front and dipping slightly lower at the back. They had teased her short brown hair into stylish flicks and layers, and her caramel skin gleamed against the burnt orange. She grinned up at Thomas with her milk chocolate eyes and when she blinked the burnished brown-orange on her eyelids flashed like fire.

The different blends of shades in the material flickered like firelight under the dim fluorescent lighting and somehow Thomas knew that when she was under the spotlights on the stage it would almost crackle as the colours danced. He was impressed, and he had never expected to feel such a thing from any aspect of the Games. He had always resented the tributes being dressed and scrubbed like lambs before slaughter and yet right then he was looking at the two most beautiful girls he had ever seen in his life. He shrugged as Teresa teased him again.

"What can i say," he commented in a very good impression of the man whose stage they were about to grace, "You two look _divine_."

He gave Brenda a deliberate once over before he smirked at her teasingly.

" _You_ look like a fire fairy."

Brenda laughed and punched his arm playfully as Teresa snorted, and even though this was just another sickening step in the horror that was the dressed-up Hunger Games, their presence made him feel a little better. If such a thing were possible when facing what they were.

"Well, better a fire fairy than an ice-cube."

Thomas pretended to be offended and Teresa howled with laughter. Brenda preened in an exaggerated manner, pleased. They teased each other for a while, enjoying it while they could.

Thomas leaned against the wall again, letting his eyes roam over the rainbow of other tributes. The corridor was filling as the moments ticked by and Thomas was becoming nervous over the lack of Newt's presence. The girls and he made ridiculous small talk, knowing it was ridiculous and yet also knowing that they had been warned on pain of, well, something, that they had better act like perfect little ladies and gentlemen, as much as it pained them.

Eventually they received a warning of five minutes to go, an assistant of some sort with blue skin and bright pink hair and lips talking them over their instructions as he sorted them into order. Thomas stood up properly, looking around in search of the blonde. He could feel Teresa pressing against his back as Brenda stepped into line in front of him as instructed. When the assistant passed them and was safely further down the long line Thomas relaxed a little.

"Looks like your friend is going to be late. Tsk, they won't be too happy…" Teresa murmured into his ear and Thomas rolled his eyes.

"He'll be here. Shank probably got lost." he sniped back, and she hid her chuckle in his shoulder. Brenda looked back at them with silent amusement. Just then a familiar voice appeared in the ear that Teresa had just spoken into. Thomas turned his face in relief.

"Budge up, Tommy."

What he saw took his breath away.

If he thought they'd made the girls beautiful, he was dead wrong. Newt stood beside him in the grey-wash concrete of the corridor, wearing a soft-looking shirt and suit jacket like Thomas's, his slim trousers making his long legs look like they went on forever. Where Thomas and Teresa had been assigned their own shades of blue and Brenda dominated the warm oranges, Newt had been dressed in _green_.

His shirt was a soft spring shade, buttoned to the very top with a rounded collar that made him look unbearably young. The jacket was a grassier summer green and Thomas's heart lurched in his chest at the thoughts of their field that the colour evoked. His trousers were in a much darker emerald and his black dress shoes were stark and neat. His blonde, fluffy hair had been teased into an incredibly textured style that made Thomas's fingers itch with a sudden sharp longing to touch it. It swept back in a curl from his forehead and gave him an interesting, tousled look that made Thomas's lower abdomen tremble. Newt's brown eyes were deep and dark against the paleness of his face and the honey of his hair.

Thomas had never had a favourite colour before, not in the normal sense. He had loved the brown of Newt's eyes since he was eight years old, had shocked himself at twelve by the way that the specific shade of pink Newt went when he was embarrassed made him feel. The golden honey of his hair had always been one, of course. But Thomas had never expected any other colour to do to him what those ones did.

How wrong he had been, because right then and there Thomas was utterly certain that the best colour in the _whole shucking world_ was _green_.

"You're buggin' starin', Tommy."

Newt's nervous half-smile brought Thomas back suddenly, and he flushed when he realised his three district-mates were looking at him. Teresa and Brenda looked amused, their eyes knowing and silently laughing. Newt looked nervous, his cheeks going pink. Thomas shuffled back to let him in.

"Yeah, he does that." Teresa muttered, and Brenda stifled a laugh behind her hand. She turned back with gleaming eyes.

"We just took it a compliment to how pretty we look."

Thomas's cheeks burned as the two female Gladers laughed. Newt's smile was lop-sided and soft and his cheeks were taking on a definite pink tinge as he slotted in front of Thomas, turning to look at him. As the assistant called for quiet and the monitor hanging from the ceiling at the front of the line flickered to life, Thomas felt the warmth of Newt's fingers as his hand closed over his.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Tommy." he whispered close to Thomas's ear.

If the girls heard they didn't say anything.

"Well _Hello_ Panem!"

Theme music and the sound of applauded suddenly roared from all around them and Thomas felt Newt squeeze his hand tightly. He twisted his grip and interlocked their fingers. Thomas felt the rush of affection sweetly filter through his chest and didn't question it. He needed as clear a head as possible if he was to present himself on the stage like Janson wanted, and agonising over why Newt was holding his hand wouldn't do him any good. For all he knew the blonde felt as nervous as he did and was looking for support. He squeezed back reassuringly.

The gathered tributes fell into silence, every pair of eyes locked on the TV screen as the famous Caesar Flickerman danced onto the stage decked from head to toe in red. His coiffed hair, his eyebrows, his eyelids lips and fingernails all blazed in scarlet and he flashed the audience his familiar disarming smile. Thomas took a deep breath, holding it before he let it out in a steady stream as Flickerman began to talk.

_Here we go._


	6. Chapter 6

The further down the corridor the line moved, the higher the nervousness crawled up Thomas's spine. When finally the Caesar on the TV monitor applauded the boy they had labelled _Satan_ off of his stage and called out for their next guest, Thomas was shaking. Newt shot him a reassuring look, squeezing his hand harder than ever. When the assistant motioned for her Brenda took a deep breath, glancing back at the other Gladers. Thomas smiled encouragingly.

"Knock 'em dead, Brenda." Newt whispered, Thomas and Teresa quick to agree.

She smiled at them all and twirled back towards the staircase, quickly disappearing up the staircase. Thomas watched her appear as a warm blaze of colour on the monitor as Caesar welcomed her with a hug and a kiss on her hand. Brenda giggled, playing the sunny and shallow persona that Janson had encouraged. Thomas hoped it worked for her, here and in the Arena. If the others underestimated her then she'd have a much better fighting chance. His stomach roiled and he fought the urge to be sick.

"Well hello there! Don't you look _stunning_! Brenda Jorge, everyone! The first of our young ladies from the Glade district!"

Thomas watched Brenda's interview in an almost trance-like state of anxiety as she smiled and charmed the audience with her laughter and her petite beauty. Thomas remembered the things Janson had told them all as he tried to keep his breathing even. They had gathered to go over ways to charm the people he would be approaching for sponsors to provide them with things in the Arena.

Brenda would play giggly and shallow and likeable, pretend she was eager and excited to be there. Brenda was a bubbly person by nature and as Thomas watched he would have fallen for it himself. Teresa wasn't good like that at all and so they'd taken another direction with her. She'd be playing mysterious and collected, promoting her sharp wit, which suited the blue-eyed girl to a Tee. If she managed to pull it off people would root for her because they were curious about her and wanted to see more.

Newt would be his usual quiet, polite self. It wasn't hard for Newt to smile just the right way, and he could charm anybody if he tried. Plus he had a baby face that would easily earn him the support of mothers and old ladies. And Thomas? Well, Thomas was the least predictable of them all. He'd be smiling and pretending to like everyone, but Janson had very quickly sussed that Thomas wasn't a good enough actor to pull off the persona Brenda could. He wished Teresa's interview was before his own so that he could mirror her.

Before long Flickerman was wrapping up and Brenda rose, giving the audience an applause-worthy twirl as she said goodbye to the host like a little fairy queen. Thomas had the oddest thought that he had been absolutely right about her dress dancing like fire under the stage lights. The assistant waved him forward and Newt squeezed his hand one last time before nudging him forwards with a nervous smile.

"You'll be _brilliant_ , Tommy. I know ya will."

He forced a smile as he met Newt's brown eyes and gasped a shaky laugh.

"Good Luck for yours Newt, you'll charm them all easy peasy."

His friend's gentle chuckle followed him up the stairs as he tried to settle the rising urge to retch. He was at the top of the staircase before he was ready, stepping onto the stage as his feet carried him over to the Capitol show host with red all over him. His heart was beating a hundred miles an hour and he was in serious danger of bringing up his lunch. Caesar stood to shake his hand, encouraging him to wave at the audience. He seated Thomas before perching in his own chair, crossing his legs and picking invisible lint from his trouser leg as the audience went nuts.

"And we're joined now by our first young man from the Glade! We've been looking forward to meeting you, Thomas. Your district had me on the edge of my seat on Reaping Day!"

He sat back as the audience cheered in agreement. Thomas forced himself not to fidget, instead folding his hands in a mimicry of what Caesar himself was doing. Caesar smiled widely at him, the disarming smile at play. Thomas found it a tiny bit easier to breathe. The audience calmed down as Caesar waited politely.

"Okay. So we all saw it, i mean woah, Thomas. You jumped right up there and volunteered for Newton. What was going through your mind in that moment?"

The audience fell quiet as Thomas looked out across them all, the sheer number dizzying. He swallowed nervously.

"Well, i uhm." he broke off in a nervous breathy laugh and Caesar chuckled pleasantly.

"Just take a sec, there. Quite a sight, eh? All those curious faces staring at you. Quite intimidating the first time."

Thomas let his breath out in a rush, nodding. Caesar was an expert at what he did, making his guest seem interesting and likeable even if they weren't necessarily so. He got himself under control and sent Caesar a grateful smile. The host simply continued to smile back, and Thomas took his cue.

"Well, ah, Caesar, i'm not sure. I wasn't really thinking at all."

Caesar looked out over the audience with raised eyebrows.

"You mean you volunteered without thought? We heard that the boy you volunteered in place of is your friend, correct?"

Thomas nodded when the host looked back at him.

"Yeah. My best friend. We've been friends since i was six, when my baby sister died."

The audience aww'ed, and Thomas was as surprised by that as by his own confession. He looked nervously at Caesar but the man was simply smiling sympathetically, nodding.

"That must have been awful for you, so young."

"Yeah. She died, and then my dad died and my mum got sick, and Chuck was… Well. Chuck was one of our tributes last year."

Thomas could hear the tremor in his own voice and he chuckled nervously. Caesar whistled, looking at the audience.

"What an awful tale, folks. We have a fighter here! He's been through so much and yet look at him now! He's not only still cheerful but he _volunteered_ in place of his friend. A round of applause for this young man!"

Caesar took a sip from a water glass on his table as the audience complied, sending Thomas a wink over the rim. Thomas smiled back, finally feeling almost comfortable in his chair. He ducked his head as the audience settled down.

"Wow. So we all saw you volunteer for your best friend in the world. And then that second slip turned out to have your name on it anyway, and then _Newton_ volunteered. Well." Caesar blew his cheeks out as though he couldn't believe it. "We haven't had this much drama from the Glade in a long time, at least not that i can remember!"

The audience called out the affirmative.

"We'll be interviewing Newton next, of course, but tell me Thomas," He leaned forward in his chair conspiratorially, and Thomas mirrored him. "Why do you think he did it?"

Thomas was surprised by the question and he fumbled for a second.

"Well, ah, Caesar. Newt's the kind of person who would feel guilty about sending someone into the danger of the Arena in his place. He, well. Knowing him he probably felt it was his duty to volunteer."

He shrugged, at a loss of how to continue.

"And how did you feel about that?"

Thomas found himself grinning before he caught it, and he looked over at Caesar sheepishly.

"Well to be honest i was a little angry to start off. It was his last Reaping and i was hoping he'd never have to- uhm, well, get into any danger. But honestly i'm really glad he's here with me."

There was something about the heat of the lights on his skin that made his brain switch off, and thoughts moved right to his mouth before he could check them over. He shrugged. Caesar chuckled, and sat back in his seat.

"Now, tell me Thomas. Are there any girls you're leaving back home? Any secret loves to come back to that we don't know about?"

Thomas choked. He could feel his face burning as suddenly as his intake of breath. The show host had caught him completely off guard and he felt wrong footed as he stared at him. Caesar and the audience chuckled at his reaction, and Thomas ducked his head uncertainly.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, we'll take that as a _yes_! Care to share the name of your love, Tom? There are few things more romantic than a broadcast declaration of love."

Thomas shook his head, but Caesar didn't seem satisfied. Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he stuttered out a reply.

"Uhm, no girls, Caesar. Not leaving anyone back home."

Caesar was giving him an odd, curious look, and Thomas smiled sheepishly back before the horror set in. Oh dear god. He barely had time to realise what he'd said before the host did a truly wonderful thing. He covered for him. As smoothly as anyone Thomas had ever seen. He shook his head at the audience with a rueful smile.

"Oh dear, Panem. This boy can't catch a break! Well Thomas, let me tell you this. You come back home a Victor and they'll be falling all over you, okay?"

Thomas met his gaze and shrugged nervously, relief making him feel wobbly. Caesar wrapped the interview up pretty quickly after that and before he knew it Thomas was seated by a delicate side table in a hallway at the bottom of the exit stairs, staring up at the TV as he saw Newt being seated in the chair he had vacated. The green of the boy's outfit made him look young and sweet as he folded himself into the chair.

Thomas couldn't pay attention as much as he would have liked to because he was almost certain he was going to be sick. He leaned forward in his seat as he breathed in slow and steady breaths, willing the feeling to go away. Janson and the Crawford woman were further down the hallway, engrossed in a conversation with Brenda. Thomas could only hope they hadn't caught his train-wreck of an interview.

Had Caesar seen it? Had it been written on his face as clearly as he thought it had? Or had they simply assumed he had meant there wasn't anybody? He wasn't sure how a gay tribute would come off and he didn't dare to think about how upset Janson would be if it turned out to lose them sponsors. He groaned, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at his best friend on the screen.

Caesar was talking, and Newt was sitting in the chair with one leg folded over the other, one hand in his lap and the other tracing minute circles at one edge of his bottom lip. Thomas watched the action, feeling the familiar want and affection rising in his gut. The older boy's hair was an enthralling concoction of honey and gold, wheat and cream, the tousled and textured work of his stylists eye-catching and alluring. The green made his hair brighter, made his dark eyes velvety on his face. Thomas had never wanted to kiss him more.

"… very brave, do you think it'll earn you the favour of any particular young lady in your district if you make it back victorious?"

Newt smiled almost shyly at the question, the stage lights picking out little notes of amber in his brown eyes. He tipped his head a little towards the audience as he spoke to Caesar, his eyes downcast and his cheeks pink. Thomas's heart bumped painfully in his ribcage at how beautiful Newt was when he was bashful.

"Well Caesar, i'm afraid i have to disappoint ya there."

The audience made intrigued noises and Caesar shushed them playfully, leaning in towards Newt the way he had Thomas. Thomas had to admit that the man was compelling, making each tribute as interesting and attractive as the next. It was almost inspiring.

"Oh? How so? Not a fan of the young ladies? Or just not interested in settling down to love just yet, eh folks?"

Caesar winked, and Thomas found he was smiling a little despite himself.

"Well… It's almost a combination of sorts, really. Rather unlucky."

Newt's self-deprecating little chuckle tugged at Thomas, giving him the overwhelming urge to wrap the blonde in a hug. Caesar and the audience were hanging on the boy's every word just as Thomas was. Newt fiddled with the knee of one trouser leg before looking up shyly. One of the cameras was centred on him, the biggest part of the screen just him from his chest up, capturing the play of light that danced on the angle of his jaw as he turned his head.

"Oh?"

Caesar's prompt was quiet, and Thomas could feel the anticipation the red-tinged man was instilling as surely as if he were sitting in the audience.

"Well, he's not a _she_ , per say." he flicked an uncertain look at Caesar before lowering his gaze again and Thomas was so caught up with the ache in his chest at the vulnerable look in his friend's eyes that he missed the implications the audience were whispering about until Newt spoke again.

"And he won't be waitin' back home for me to come back a Victor."

The audience was silent, everyone holding their breath. Thomas held his breath along with them as Newt finally lifted his gaze, looking right out at the camera as though he knew it was right there.

"He's headin' into the Arena with me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this Chapter is much shorter than previous ones, and i'm so sorry. However as much as i did try, this scene didn't want to be stretched out, the boys were adamant about it i'm afraid. They didn't need the filler i had written because they have a life-long friendship and understanding of each other that means they communicate a lot more without words than with them.  
> (Yes, i'm doing the weird writer-y thing of really personalising the characters as though they're helping me write... I've had a lot of coffee and little sleep and I have no regrets.)  
> The Arena is approaching.  
> Thanks to everyone so far, i love to hear what you've particularly liked about Chapters. Comments literally make my day, and criticism helps me grow.  
> Happy Reading!

There was a heartbeat of absolute silence before the audience erupted. Newt was incredibly red under the hot lights, his brown eyes dark and more afraid that Thomas had ever seen them even though his jaw was set and his expression was neutral. Thomas could see it, read it there, and he had forgotten how to breathe. His affection for Newt expanded until it was all he could think about, his heart racing like a rabbit's in his chest.

He couldn't tear his gaze from the screen, even when the cameras switched views and Caesar Flickerman was speaking and the noise of the audience was explosive. He kept his eyes on the image of his best friend in the world, the boy who had stolen his heart years before he'd even realised. The interview was continuing but Thomas couldn't focus. Caesar was reigning it back under control expertly, and Newt was fidgeting, his lips moving to say words that Thomas couldn't focus on. His mind was racing, trying to take in what Newt had just said, what he had just _said on a Panem-wide Broadcast_.

Thomas's head was spinning, and he didn't realise he was moving until he was standing, striding, moving towards the staircase, halting mere feet from the bottom as he finally breathed again. He forced the air in and out of his lungs, feeling light-headed and fuzzy. He could hear the sound of footsteps and he'd know their rhythm anywhere. As the green trouser legs stepped down into his view, followed by the shirt, the blazer, and _Newt_ , Thomas realised he had no idea what he was going to say.

Newt met his eye as he reached the last stair, and the surprise on his face was short-lived. He looked nervous, and afraid. Newt suddenly looked so absolutely close to tears that Thomas didn't know what to do, he was so stunned by the revelation. Newt never cried. He was the strongest person Thomas knew. He felt a thread of fear spiralling in his gut.

" _Tommy_ , I-"

"What on _earth_ was that? You could have warned me before you went off saying things like that, I could have so many things in place. Do you realise what you've done?"

Janson was pushing past Thomas like he wasn't there, his eyes alight and his face so excited Thomas couldn't believe it. He put a hand on Newt's shoulder, shaking his hand vigorously with the other as his voice grew in volume, his arm swinging expressively.

"Oh, people are going to _root for you_ , my man! Newton that was genius! I couldn't have scripted it better, oh- Sylvia? Could we? Oh there are so many thing we can- Oh Newton, my boy, we're going to be making history _for sure_! Well done Thomas for setting that up, you two- Hm? Yes, we can- of course. Let's…"

Janson and the Crawford woman strode off as quickly as they had appeared by his side and Janson's rushed babbling continued as they walked away towards the elevator, their heads close together and excitement blazing in their faces. Thomas watched them go, feeling out of place and floaty, like he was in someone else's dream and couldn't quite get his feet on the ground.

"Talk about whiplash."

The voice behind him was quiet and nervous, and Thomas turned to meet Newt's eyes. The blonde was biting the inside of his cheek, and his gaze danced around the hallway. The angled planes of his cheeks were dark pink and Thomas had to swallow the words he wanted to say.

"So Caesar thinks we're brave, huh?" he said instead.

Newt's grin was instant and warm and he looked at Thomas gratefully. Thomas smiled back. He wanted to ask what Newt had meant on the stage, but he was afraid to. He was his best friend in all the world and he would be the only thing on Thomas's mind from the very second he set foot in the Arena.

"Looks like it. Who the bloody hell knows why?"

Thomas sniggered, and pulled Newt into a hug. The blonde didn't question him and he was glad, because he didn't know how to put it into words anyway.

"Tommy… What i said… It won't, i mean… It won't change anythin', will it?"

Thomas looked up, surprised at the doubt in Newt's words. He blew out his breath in a disbelieving snort, drawing Newt a skeptical look.

"You are kidding, right? Besties for life, bro." he teased in a feminine voice.

Newt screwed up his face at that, but the intent had been understood. He shoved Thomas playfully when the younger boy laughed, but it only made Thomas snigger more. Newt gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes.

"I take it back, _jeez_. What was i thinkin'? Lovin' a loony like you."

Thomas merely threw him a sunny grin, fluttering his eyelashes at him. To his delight Newt's blush returned in force, and he scrunched his eyes up as he glanced away, giving Thomas's shoulder a hard shove. As he stumbled away Thomas merely laughed.

"In love with me now, Newt? Man, lucky me. Panem'll have a fit when they hear." he grinned.

"Oh, piss off." Newt snorted as he swatted for Thomas's head.

Thomas ducked out of the way, dancing out of Newt's reach and laughing more when the blonde tried again. They continued the dance halfway up the hallway, Newt growing more red and more boisterous with every unsuccessful attempt to smack the brunette. It was difficult to contain their laughter, both forgetting for a moment where they were. The Capitol officials who were wandering around the corridor were starting to give them seriously displeased looks and Thomas straightened, throwing his hand out casually for Newt's as he called for a truce.

"Come on, let's go get hot chocolate before we get into trouble. The last thing we need is RatMan down our throats."

Newt laughed into his free hand as if Thomas had said something hilarious but he followed dutifully, shifting his hand so that their fingers were linked together. Neither of them said anything more as they made their way to the elevator up to their suite, both focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to memorise the feeling of the hand that warmed their own.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas turned over again. He was drenched in sweat and struggling to calm himself down enough to sleep. He was painfully aware how much he was going to need his rest, but knowing how few their opportunities for rest would be in the Arena didn't make it any easier to sleep now. He groaned for the hundredth time, twisting the thin cover in his fists as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe regularly.

Half an hour later he was glaring up at the dim shadows on the ceiling again and trying not to give in to the scream of frustration that was perching on his vocal chords like a fat, oily bird. The more he tried not to fret the more he did, and he could feel tears of hopelessness preparing themselves to fall.

He hated the stupid _fucking_ Capitol and their stupid people with their stupid shallow morals and their stupid, _stupid_ yearly Games and he wanted to show them all that he was more than… More than what they labelled him.

He knew he was going to die.

He accepted it. Knew it would happen. Knew that if he managed to get Newt through the first night it'd be an absolute miracle. He knew their odds and by god they were _not_ in his favour. The odds were never in a Glader's favour. Gladers died. Always. But he couldn't let Newt. He would just have to prove to them all, to the GameMakers, to the stupid old man who called himself their _President_ , that Gladers were not to be disregarded. He would get Newt through that first night. He would show them. And he would keep on showing them as long as he possibly could, even if it meant…

He swallowed the sick feeling as it rose, blinked away the agonising tears. He gripped the covers tightly as if it would somehow make things better.

Even if it meant killing the tributes who put them in danger.

Because Newt… Newt couldn't die. It simply wasn't something Thomas was willing to consider, and he'd do every shucking thing in his power to make sure it didn't happen. There were nearly fifty other tributes heading in with them. Forty six other tributes stood in-between Newt and freedom. Forty six _children_ , _teenagers_. Kids just like themselves, most of whom resented the Games just the same as he did. Forty six other people who would be armed and many of them trained to use them. Two of them girls from their own Glader district.

And despite it all he could feel the determination and hope glowing hot in his heart. Because that was the thing about Newt. The blonde made hope possible. He was simply hope in human form and Thomas was not immune to the effects. Newt made him hope, made him believe that things could be better, that they would. There had been many a heady summer afternoon where they had lain in their field, free from everybody else and Newt had spoken wistfully of a better future, of the many little happinesses that a Glader could accumulate over a lifetime. Newt took pleasure in the little things. He was a smiler in the very first degree, the ray of sunshine on Thomas's cloudiest, rainiest days. Thomas would get him through this. He absolutely _had_ to.

He'd do a much better job, however, if he managed to shucking _sleep_.

It was early morning, Thomas could feel it without looking at the odd little clock that lay on the bedside table. There were few hours until his prep team would return with final preparations for his entry to the Arena. It was racing towards him at both the slowest and fastest pace, a moment he both dreaded and was desperate to get out of the way. Inaction itched him, the anticipation almost worse than the fear. He rolled over again, closing his eyes tight despite feeling wide awake and aching to pace around his room as he had for hours earlier.

There was a noise in the corridor outside of his door, and Thomas pretended he wasn't relieved to have an excuse to _do_ something. He sat up in bed as he listened to the quiet steps, the dragging sound that reminded Thomas of the sound his fingers made when he trailed them along the wooden walls of the school hallway. He threw back his covers and stood, listening curiously to the sound. He hadn't realised he was moving until his fingers curled around the smooth brass handle of his door. Without pausing to think about it he opened the door and poked his head out into the dark corridor.

He bit back a cry of surprise when he saw the figure who was sitting by his doorway. Newt had his back against the wall and his knees drawn under his chin. He looked up at Thomas with quiet eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.

"Did i wake ya?" he whispered.

Thomas shook his head, letting out a sigh.

"I wish. Can't sleep?"

Newt returned his eyes to the wall across from him, shaking his head slowly.

"Nah. I can't shut my buggin' brain off for long enough."

Thomas gave a shaky laugh, sitting down beside his friend.

"Tell me about it." he muttered.

Newt gave him a surprisingly cheeky look from under his eyelashes.

"I can't shut my buggin' brain off for long enough."

Thomas rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together with an annoyed huff, but he was smiling. Newt smiled back. It was a quiet, soft sort of smile that Thomas loved. He loved all of Newt's smiles of course, who couldn't? From the beaming, blazing grin to the warm and bashful to the half-smiles when he was thinking. He realised he was probably staring but he didn't really care. He was about to be thrown to his death in an Arena full of cornered tributes. He'd stare all he wanted while he had the chance. Newt shifted beside him, leaning his shoulder against Thomas's.

"We don't stand a chance, Tommy." Newt breathed, sounding so matter-of-fact that it was almost as though he were commenting on the weather.

Thomas looked at him, taking in the tousled, ruffled hair and the brown eyes, the pale jawline and the bitten bottom lip. He sighed, leaning back against Newt and embracing the other boy's warmth.

"We have to try, Newt. We won't give in, okay?"

Newt didn't answer, looking at the wall across from them as though it could help them. Thomas turned his face properly, noting that Newt looked a little put out when he had to lift his head from Thomas's shoulder.

"Promise me, Newt. We gotta try."

Newt sighed, ran the long fingers of one hand through his hair. Thomas ached. It was a bitter sweetness that flickered when Newt did that. As painfully sweet as the distressed blonde curls looked, the fact that Newt was worrying was awful. Thomas slid his arm around him, pulling him back in.

"Promise me, Newt."

Newt looked up at the quiver in his voice, and Thomas looked back at him. Newt nodded, his eyes flickering over Thomas's face as if he was reading it carefully.

"I promise Tommy, i promise."

It would have to do. Thomas held him a second longer before he got to his feet, reaching down to tug Newt up too. His fingers wrapped around Newt's unbidden, and he pulled him toward the open door.

"Come on. We really need to get some sleep or tomorrow's going to be even more of a disaster."

Newt looked like he was going to comment but at the last minute he closed his mouth, his brown eyes meeting Thomas's defeatedly. Thomas led him into the darkened room, closing the door as quietly as possible. He wasn't sure what the rules were about sticking to their own rooms, or if there even were any considering what was happening the next day. Not that he'd care much if there were.

Newt followed him over to the wall his bed was slotted against before looking up at him with unsure eyes. Thomas stepped aside, nudging Newt toward the suddenly inviting pale blue sheets. Newt rolled his eyes but didn't argue, climbing onto the mattress so gracefully that Thomas's heart clenched hard. Newt arranged the blanket, fiddling with a corner as he waited for Thomas to join him.

Thomas couldn't stop himself from taking a second to look at the sight before him. The thought that this might be the last time he saw Newt looking anything close to safe made him want to take hold of him and never let go. When Newt finally looked up at him he tipped his head, drawing the younger boy a softly playful look, one eyebrow arching out of his familiar frown. Thomas smiled back as best he could, the moment feeling heavy and melancholy as he climbed under the blanket to lie beside his friend.

Despite everything, despite the Games, despite the impending morning and despite where they were, Thomas closed his eyes and breathed in the moment, wanting to commit everything to memory. He relaxed into the affection warming his heart. He took it all in, the sound of Newt breathing softly beside him, the faint tendrils of heat he could feel across the inches between them. He listened hard, hearing the comforting thump of Newt's heartbeat, the rustle of the cover as Newt moved his knee.

When Thomas was sure he would never forget how good it felt to be in that moment he opened his eyes and turned to look at him.

Newt was already looking back at him, his brown eyes huge and luminous in the dark. He didn't speak, and Thomas didn't either. He didn't need to. He knew what Newt was feeling, knew as well as he knew how many toes he had that Newt was as frightened as he was, as nervous and sickened by their fate. Newt met his touch halfway, linking their fingers together almost fiercely and squeezing _hard_ before letting go. Thomas opened his mouth, grieving the touch, but Newt had rolled towards him, lying on his side and looking up at Thomas as though for permission before he rested his head on him, right above where his heart beat in his chest.

Thomas curled his arm around him instantly and Newt drew closer, relaxing against Thomas's touch as though it felt as familiar to him as it did to Thomas. Thomas found his fingers running softly through his friend's soft curls, felt Newt move his face, burrowing into Thomas's pyjama shirt. Suddenly the room didn't seem so bad, the cold walls less intimidating. As Thomas bravely rested his chin atop the blonde head he realised that he was tired. Despite how wide awake he had felt moments before, Thomas wasn't surprised. Newt was right here, warm and safe and when it really came down to it Thomas didn't think he would ever want anything else.

Thomas tightened his arm a little, delighted when Newt pressed closer to his side. He hooked one long leg over Thomas's, tucking his cold toes under Thomas's ankle. He squirmed a little in surprise, letting out a sharp hiss.

"Your feet are freezing Newt!"

He received a quiet chuckle in return as Newt just wriggled both of his feet against Thomas's warm ones. Thomas whined, but he didn't really mind that much. Newt rubbed his face against Thomas's chest and released a sound so similar to a soft purr that Thomas was reminded forcefully how much he loved him. He ran his hand through Newt's hair again, bolder now that he was sure Newt wouldn't pull away. If he was pleased by the soft hum Newt responded with, then who could blame him?

"G'Night, Tommy."

The breathy whisper made him smile as he closed his eyes to try and grab the rest that would carry him through the first day in the Arena.

"Night, Newt."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arena is upon them.

Thomas watched Newt being guided in the opposite direction and it filled him with an awful, sinking dread. He resisted the hand of his own guide on his arm, watching Newt walking away from him. Just before he turned the corner out of sight the blonde turned, his eyes meeting Thomas's and a grim smile on his face.

"See ya up there, Tommy." he called back.

Thomas's heart seized as his best friend stepped out of sight. He allowed the man beside him to walk him down a corridor and into a room which appeared empty but for an odd glass pillar in the centre. He walked towards it automatically, surprised when the man who was with him tapped a flat little panel on the wall and the glass cylinder slid open.

It was a glass tube, hollow on the inside. Thomas was pretty certain he was supposed to get inside but the thought made him feel uneasy. He wondered briefly if any tribute had ever suffocated in there before it released them into the Arena. Taking what was likely going to be his last breath of free air, Thomas stepped into the tube.

He quashed the bubble of panic when the door slid closed again, the seam disappearing like it had never been there. He tried desperately not to think of it as a glass coffin. It was an elevator, it was going to take him up and turn him loose into the giant cage that would be the death of him. He looked out at the man who had been assigned to ready him in his tube, grateful at least that Newt would have the familiar, if not comforting face of the ratty-looking Janson when he was sealed into his own glass tube. The man smiled at him and Thomas tried to smile back.

It wasn't long before he had to close his eyes and try to steady his breathing. He could hear the muffled voice of the man counting down in what was, to Thomas's ears at least, the most bizarrely blank tone.

_Oh gods, here we go._

_NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN_

Newt squeezed his eyes shut as the tube began to move, feeling queasy and light-headed. When the air opened up above him it was almost a relief. His heart felt like it would soon beat its way out of his chest. The sound of air moving made him open his eyes to look out across the BloodBath area, the place where he was likely to die. He ignored the urge to look at the other tributes, knowing that a good look at his surroundings could be vital.

The sight of grass almost pained him. He hadn't expected anything familiar like that, and as he turned his head - careful not to accidentally tumble from his little circle and blow himself up - he saw a tree-line only a few hundred feet behind him. Dense greenery, brown bark and lots of shadows even in the late morning light. _Strong possibility_.

To his left was a body of water, looking bizarrely out of place and suspiciously blue. Newt had never seen water so clear and inviting, and very loud warning bells pealed in his head, sending his heart into overdrive.

_Okay, okay. Good. Slim it._

_Two directions down._

_Focus._

To the right there seemed to be a lot of dirt and dust, an indeterminable distance between the BloodBath Circle and what looked to be _actual shucking buildings_. The air over that way seemed to move, shifting, and it took Newt precious seconds to realise it looked like sand was whipping around. Now was not the time to be wondering about the Science behind the sections of an Arena.

_No time to analyse._

_Take it in._

_Centre yourself._

_Where are you?_

Straight ahead, behind the tributes who faced him across the huge circle and the scattered supplies, was a rocky wall, looking so strange it was like it belonged there next to the desert-like dusty part and its buildings. The stone was grey and ashy, draped in something green. There was a gaping black column just in the middle of the grey stone, looking faintly like a doorway. From what he could see the inside looked shadowy and dark, plenty of places to hide. Maybe caves or something. Nothing familiar though, not like trees. Trees were something he understood. Newt was feeling the tiniest bit more optimistic and he listened to the booming sound that signal they had ten seconds left until the were safe to step from their plates.

He knew where he was going.

Direction chosen.

**9**

_Check_.

**8**

_Now where the shuck is Tommy?_

Newt's gaze danced over the furthest tributes, not even long enough to see faces. He'd know Thomas's outline anywhere.

**7**

He would even bet the brunette was clenching his hands at his sides, probably had his head down, concentrating on his breathing. He knew Tommy was worried about him.

**6**

There were so many of them, so many people, _children_ who stood to kill or be killed. Boys and girls his own age, many of them younger than him.

**5**

Some of them were going to be dead seconds after the last booming canon of the countdown. The ground would soon be watered by the spilled blood of some of those who stood around him now.

**4**

Possibly his own blood. The odds were stacked against him, as a Glader and as a scrawny blonde who was only really good for climbing trees and casual bow-work.

**3**

_Tommy_.

His eyes landed on him at last, ridiculously far away, at least a dozen Gladers to his left. The turquoise water glittered behind him, throwing his shadow off, but it was him.

**2**

His eyes were locked on Newt and his face was darkened, set in a grim expression. His hands were fisted by his side, fingers curled hard in the material of his trousers. His head was ducked, his jaw clenched, face remaining immobile, his gaze heavy on Newt.

**1**

At the very last second Thomas looked from Newt to the treelike behind him, an almost imperceptible flicker, a _flash_ , briefer than a blink. But Newt saw. And he knew Thomas knew he'd seen.

**BOOM**

Newt threw himself backwards so hard he almost didn't manage to get his feet to turn in time to catch his body. He hared it towards the tree-line, not daring to look back, knowing it was bloody stupid thing to do. He could hear the commotion all around him, heard the scream of someone, the yells of so many others. He could sense that other people were moving around him but he didn't stop.

When he reached the tree-line he kept right on running, darting between the trees and grateful that at least he could do that. He kept his feelings suppressed, draping a heavy tarpaulin over them and buttoning it down. Any wrong move could be his end.

When he really couldn't run any further he slowed, swallowing his breaths as he strained his ears. His blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was an almost constant vibration in his ribcage as he pressed against a tree. His legs felt weak and he already wanted to throw up but he pushed it all aside as he looked around him.

If anyone was behind him he could have seconds, maybe less. He'd have to get used to thinking on his feet, keep a constant eye on his surroundings. He took a proper look at the trees. They were slimmer than the ones in the Glade, the branches more spread out. But they were tall, and the branches were well-covered and sturdy-looking, each bough abundant with leaves. If Newt could get far enough up he'd be hidden from everyone on the ground.

Savouring a moment of breathing the sweet-smelling tree smell that was so similar to, and yet so different from, the trees back home, Newt pushed himself to his toes to test the strength of the highest branch he could reach. It held.

With one last gulp of air he set to work hauling himself up.


	10. Chapter 10

Thomas's first glance at the Arena had a little stab of hope fluttering around in his abdomen. Trees. Trees were good. He could work with trees. That's where Newt would decide to go, he was positive. He spared a glance around as the countdown began.

**9**

He was part of a giant circle of tributes, twice the size of any year he had ever seen, of course. They were spaced maybe eight feet apart, and his eyes flew across them to find Newt.

**8**

He picked him out easily, taking a heartbeat to watch the blonde taking in his surroundings. Good. Newt was level-headed. They were going to need that.

**7**

Despite wanting to look at Newt for as long as possible, Thomas needed to work out which way to run into what was going to be one of the most dangerous moments of his entire life. A tower of supplies was built obscenely in the very centre of the circle, a temptation many were going to die for, just like every year.

**6**

This year there was a strange, bare framework around them like someone had at the last minute decided they needed a wood and corrugated iron warehouse, and stripped all the sides off. There were various rope-nets hanging over the edges, to allow access no doubt, and the various levels or floors or whatever held different piles of supplies, weapons, food. Spiralling out from that as always were lesser supplies; small food packs, rucksacks that would contain the bare essentials but no food, scattered knives and other minor weapons.

**5**

Leaning against one of the structural walls - thankfully on his side of the structure, but perhaps also on the other - was a rack identical to the one he had avoided during training for fear of letting slip an advantage.

**4**

There were three bows there, and as Thomas cast his gaze about he caught sight of a single quiver of arrows nestled in a conveniently uneven spot on the sparse grass. It was several feet out of the most direct route to take to reach the bow, and as the countdown neared its end Thomas's mind raced against it to plot his course. His heart was racing, adrenaline pushing his fear to the backseat, which was good.

**3**

He cast his eyes for Newt, finding him just before the blonde found him.

**2**

Anxiety squeezed his heart but he didn't let it show, looking right at his best friend in all the world and hoping this wouldn't be the last time he'd see him alive. He hoped Newt would indeed go for the trees.

**1**

_Get up high. Get somewhere safe._

_Don't die._

**BOOM**

He couldn't stop to make sure Newt went into the trees, focusing solely on getting to the bow first.

_Straight line._

_Get there before the others._

_Then get the arrows._

Thomas had never run so fast in his life.

His feet pounded the ground as the first cries rang out, tributes screeching and shrieking in every direction. Someone fell to his right but he didn't look.

He knew it was safer to weave but he didn't have time. He'd have to rely on speed to get him in and out before anyone realised what he was doing. He was almost there.

A tribute fell behind him, taking someone else down, a piercing scream cutting into the air.

 _There goes the first one_.

He reached out an arm, snagging one bow and knocking over another. There was a whole heartbeat of time where Thomas considered reaching for it. Two bows, two archers. Twice the chance.

But they needed packs.

He pushed on, his momentum swinging him as he twisted on one heel, throwing himself forwards in a straight line for the quiver.

It was the opposite direction from the tree-line but he needed them.

Tributes were everywhere now, a fray of screaming and shouting, the thuds of people knocking into each other, dragging each other down. Most fights sounded weaponless still and the scuffling was a roar in his ears.

He didn't look left or right.

_Straight ahead._

_Right..._

_There!_

He lost precious seconds to the strap, his fingers grazing it but missing and he had to skid, almost falling, a second of pure terror that he was going to go down. Someone was behind him, shouting. He didn't know it it was at him or for him and he didn't stop to check. He was already running again, shouldering the quiver in a single clean shrug as he changed course, heading for the tree-line.

A brief flare of gratitude flashed across his gut at the random realisation that the quiver must be weighted - thank god, less chance of emptying it by accident when he was running.

There were two small rucksacks right on the outer edge of the spiral, and _directly_ in Thomas's path. They were back to back, lightweight things. Easy to carry at speed.

He was planning on one, they could manage between them, but _two_ -

A better chance.

A fighting chance.

His fingers curled around the loops at the top as he felt the presence beside him and he realised he couldn't stop in time. He uncurled his hand, dropping into a messy roll, and by the time he hit his knees he had an arrow between his fingertips, the feathered shaft taut on the string and ready to go.

A heartbeat was all it took, any longer and she would have been dead.

Brenda had stopped, surprise and shock on her face as she recognised him, registering the arrow. Thomas hesitated.

There were two _agonisingly_ long heartbeats before her brown eyes met his and she raised her empty hands.

Her stance wasn't what lowered his arrow, and it wasn't his own humanity - his blood was almost pure adrenaline and his mind was shut off, survival the only thing.

It was the defeated acceptance in her eyes that stopped him.

She wasn't even crying, just looking right at him without judgement. He dropped his aim in disgust, tossing the bow over his shoulder and re-quivering the arrow. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around.

It had been mere moments, two minutes since the booming countdown? Three?

Thomas realised he was out of breath.

There were tributes less that twelve feet away, three scuffling over something lying on the ground. There were four tributes racing for the tree-line, a painfully blonde flash among them, far in front and almost there.

He didn't have time for politics.

Brenda hadn't moved. When he surged forward she flinched, and closed her eyes.

Thomas grabbed the packs from the ground.

Still she didn't move.

There were knives scattered in the grass not two feet away.

He hesitated.

Newt.

_Keep Newt Safe._

His heart was torn.

The three tributes had stopped fighting.

One of them didn't get up.

He decided.

Brenda's eyes flashed open in shock when Thomas pressed against her. Her fingers clutched for the pack he was pushing into her hands. On an impulse he leaned in, pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Stay safe."

And then he was off again, scooping up two knives from the terrifying number laid out there like an array of grinning silver snakes. He nicked his fingers as he tried to get a better grip on the handles but it barely registered.

"Get a weapon, Brenda! Get somewhere safe!"

He didn't look back to see if she'd heard.

Thomas was was nearly at the tree-line when the figure barrelled out of nowhere and slammed into him.


	11. Chapter 11

Newt was clutching the trunk and taking a break from dragging himself up branch by branch. His shoulders and arms were burning from the effort. Sitting on a branch maybe twelve feet from the forest floor with his legs dangling over one side and drenched in sweat, he was beginning to realise that he was thirsty when he heard the scream. His breath caught and he closed his eyes. It had sounded incredibly close.

 _You can never be sure with trees though_ , he reminded himself hopefully. _It might have been further out._

Even though he had run what felt like miles he could still hear the clamour of the BloodBath, the shouting and screaming of the ones who had stayed to fight or risk their luck for supplies.

With a horrified jolt he realised that Thomas should have been right on his tail. The younger boy was just as fast as Newt despite the older boy's slight build, and Thomas hadn't been all that further out from the tree-line. Fear gripped him, turning his fingers numb against the soft bark of the tree. His friend had run _in_ , Newt just knew he had.

_Tommy you bloody shank!_

The scream, that very first one - that could have been him. Newt felt his eyes watering and he fought down the building fear. It wasn't. He just _knew_ it wasn't his Tommy. No way.

The screaming voice that sounded like it could be from nearby screamed again, and Newt held his breath as he listened to the pain in it. It was a loud and frightening sound, _maybe_ a girl's. And then it stopped, a guttural end leaving the air feeling almost empty and unfinished.

He didn't know how long he sat there, forcing one breath after the other to battle his growing fear for Thomas's safety. He should have been right on Newt's tail. He should have been _right_ behind him. He'd have had to have gone right in to the stupid _centre_ to be so far behind him. And what if he'd run into trouble? What if he'd been hurt and Newt had just _run off and left him_?

Newt felt sick. He felt like an absolute coward as he sat in his tree and did nothing but breath in and out and pray his friend was alive.

_Oh god Tommy, please be okay._

He sat frozen like for what felt like an incredibly long time before he forced himself to move again. Thomas would want him to climb high enough that he'd be safe. If the boy he loved so much had been there he'd have been yelling that precise thing up at him with that smirk that managed to be both cocky and yet sweet. The one that made Newt unable to come up with any of his witty retorts.

_Move your shuck ass Isaacson. I can still see you!_

Newt had no idea it were possible to hope as much as he hoped the ridiculous brunette was alive.

_Hurry up Tommy._

_NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN_

Thomas stumbled into the soft afternoon shadows the trees offered, making it only four or five steps before he fell against a tree, emptying his stomach contents all over the roots. He was shaking. His legs were weak and wobbly and he couldn't stop the shocked tears that were flooding his face. He wiped his eyes and mouth with the back of his hand only to gag and vomit again. He was covered in blood. He grabbed at the hem of the lightweight jacket they had dressed him in, cringing in revulsion as he scrubbed at his face.

The salty copper smell filled his nostrils and his stomach wouldn't settle, even though he'd already ridden himself of the meagre breakfast Newt had encouraged him to eat that morning.

At the thought of the blonde his resolve steeled and he reeled himself back under control. The sounds of other tributes weren't far enough away that he could rest yet, and he had to find Newt before anybody else decided to. He spat out the foul taste in his mouth, trying not to look at the blood in it because he'd only torture himself over whether it was his own.

He couldn't look back at the body just outside the tree-line, the form of the girl whose life he had taken. Her scream still shrieked in his head and he closed his eyes as he forced himself into a jog. Newt was the priority now.

Newt was the only priority. Without him this whole charade wasn't worth it.

 _Keep Newt Safe_.

He adjusted the various straps on his shoulders, trying not to feel guilty about the bloodied rucksack he had slid from the shoulders of the dead girl and overlapped with his own. His stomach churned but he couldn't acknowledge it, because that only meant acknowledging what he'd done and he couldn't face it. The tears were blinding.

He'd taken her _life_.

A girl he didn't know, a girl who was his own age, maybe younger.

It didn't feel like it mattered that she'd been trying to kill him.  
He'd been the one to succeed.

She'd had the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen.  
They'd looked up at him like empty, icy rings as he'd closed them.

He had to stop to retch again, bile and saliva the only reply.

He pushed himself, upping his jog to a gentle run, realising that if Newt hadn't kept to a pretty much straight course it might take hours to find him. He knew that Newt would very likely have dodged between the trees unevenly in that way of his, light-footed and sure.

The thought wasn't at all comforting.

Thomas had been jogging through the close trees for over half an hour, his pace dropping as he wore himself out, unable to keep pace with his racing mind. He was on alert, every little noise amplified in the forest and putting him on edge.

He was past the point of worrying he wasn't going to find Newt, starting to truly believe he wouldn't. He felt sick again and the temptation to sit for a while, look through the packs and take stock of what he'd snagged grew with every step.

He could only hope that he hadn't already passed where the blonde would be, that he would pass by and Newt would see him.

_You better be high in a tree somewhere._

There was someone crashing through the trees somewhere far on his left, and he was keeping track of their progress as he looked up into every tree he passed, hoping to see the mop of blonde curls that would settle the painful trembling in his heart.

He missed the blonde like crazy, even though he was aware that it had been mere hours since he'd been awoken by Newt. The blonde had stretched out like a cat beside him, arching his back against Thomas's side in a way that had filled the younger boy's heart with adoration. He'd had a full second of absolute bliss before the memory of where they were crashed down upon him. It felt like weeks had passed since then. Had it really only been that morning they'd last had a moment without the glare of Capitol eyes or their prep teams scrubbing and fussing at them?

Thomas had given up the last of his jog. His legs were weak and he was becoming incredibly thirsty but he refused to stop until he found Newt. He was almost sure there was water in one of the packs, could hear some liquid or other sloshing, feel the movement.

There was a flash of something dark amongst the leaves in a tree a foot or so in front of him and Thomas stopped, tipping his head to try and see what had caught his eye. His bow was unshouldered and in his hands before he'd really thought about it, and he didn't need to look down to know that what he felt was the familiar prickling of sharp feathers against his fingertips.


	12. Chapter 12

He stood very still, listening to the far off crunching of the other tributes, to the fading sounds of the BloodBath. It seemed most of them had abandoned the centre seeking shelter, or were out looking for those who had. His heart had finally calmed, keeping a steady pace in his chest, but now it raced again at the thought of confrontation.

And at the thought of finding Newt.

Thomas considered his options very carefully. It was entirely possible that there was another tribute, one who wasn't Newt, perched in the tree. It was also possible it was a bird or squirrel or something else. It also might be Newt. His heart lifted hopefully as he crept forwards, listening intently. He cocked the bow, stepping carefully in a wide arch as he squinted up at the tree.

He couldn't find a good angle to see what it was, not without going closer. It was agony to hope, feeling how crushed he'd be if it wasn't Newt. He weighed it up, knowing his heart would win out even before it did.

_What were the chances that another tribute had made it to a bow and reached this far in before him?_

_Slim._

_What about knives?_

_More likely._

_And Newt?_

_Highly likely._

Or was that just wishful thinking?

With anxiety and worry for Newt gnawing at him and an irritating dryness in his throat, he swallowed his fear and stepped forwards, craning his neck to see without lowering his bow.

_NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN_

Newt crouched on the branch silently, frozen in place. His heart was hammering but he had his breathing under control, shallow. He peered towards the ground, knowing he wouldn't see for sure unless whatever was making the quiet shuffling came right up to the trunk. He swallowed, cursing himself when he felt his legs tremble.

Now was really not the time to fall out of a tree. He bit his lip hard, hoping he could simply will himself under control.

The quiet rustling of the underbrush came again and Newt was pretty certain it was human. He wanted to call out, the silence and his own heartbeat screaming in his ears but he knew he'd be in serious trouble if it wasn't Thomas. He was weaponless. He closed his eyes.

There was a very long moment of absolute stillness before the crunch of footsteps reappeared.

"Oh thank _fuck_." came the sound that made falling out of his tree a true possibility.

Newt opened his eyes to see him; lowered bow in hand and a heart-melting grin on his face. Thomas looked up at him with huge brown eyes and the relief was so intense it made Newt want to laugh. So he did. Thomas sniggered at him, cocking his head far to the side in a way he used to when they were little.

"You have no idea how _fucking good_ it is to see you."

Newt flushed at his words, settling back down on his branch, swinging his legs back and forth in an attempt to rid himself of the nervous tremble. His chest felt light and free with relief, and he was warm all over at the sight of his best friend.

"Right back at ya, Tommy."

Thomas's grin widened, if such a thing were possible, and he shouldered his bow. His expression turned thoughtful as he took a proper look at the tree.

"Give me a minute," Newt said, reaching out for the trunk and angling himself so that he could slip to the next branch down, and then the next. If there was something he was _really_ good at, it was climbing trees. Climbing trees and reading Thomas. He knew the boy better than he knew himself, he was sure.

Thomas chuckled softly from the ground below, and the quiet sound floated sweetly through the air.

"As much i love watching your scrawny ass climb, maybe i should come up instead."

Newt rolled his eyes, the relief he was drowning in so strong that he felt reckless and happy despite their predicament. But he plonked himself down on the branch he was at, peering down at Thomas with a half-smile.

"Yes, sir." he quipped, and Thomas's eye-roll made it worth it.

Thomas grumbled half-heartedly under his breath as he climbed the tree. He and Newt had climbed trees a lot in the Glade, especially when they were younger, but he'd never gotten anywhere near as nimble at it at his friend and he was off-balance with everything he had on his back. Newt's eyes tracked over the various things Thomas was bringing with him as he watched the boy climb. It took a while but eventually he drew level with Newt, leaning back against the trunk as he finally got to rest.

Newt studied him, alarm and love warring inside of him. Thomas was ruffled, slicked with sweat and out of breath. He looked exhausted, and Newt just wanted to hug him, annoyed that sitting in a tree was not one of the places he could do so. But Thomas was also decorated with scattered rusty splodges, ones that Newt didn't want to think about but couldn't avoid.

"Did they hurt you?" he whispered.

The playful air of before was gone, and when Thomas opened his eyes Newt hated that he had to see his friend look so guilty and upset. It had been a good many years since Newt had seen Thomas look so distraught. The amber-gold of his eyes were filled with tears and he looked down at the branch beneath him. He was watching them fall.

"She- She had a knife and she tried to- I _killed her_ , Newt. She- She was s-so _small_... her- her eyes were so blue and i- i _killed her_."

"You had to." Newt's heart was breaking and the words tasted foul in his mouth but he had to say them. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that what he was saying was true. "It was you or her, ya did what ya had to."

The waver in his voice made Thomas look up, and he scrubbed his tears away bitterly.

"I know. And it doesn't h-help."

Newt didn't have anything he could say to that so he only nodded, reaching out as far as he dared to touch his friend's cheek. Thomas closed his eyes as Newt's thumb chased away a tear. Newt let him cry, every escaping sob a needle in his heart. His hand was wet and the salt of drying tears was tacky on his skin but he didn't move.

" _Tommy_ …"

Thomas flinched, but then he was drawing in a ragged breath and nodding. Newt didn't need to say anything else. Thomas lifted his gaze to meet Newt's worried eyes and sniffled. Newt tried to smile. It was a small, sad expression but Thomas returned it. Newt stroked his thumb over his blood-streaked cheek as Thomas closed his eyes.

Eventually his sobbing stopped. The tears slowed, and then the boys were quiet for a long moment, well after Newt drew back. They sat with their backs against the trunk and just savoured the moment because for now they were both safe. They had a moment to breathe and they took it gratefully, each relieved at having the other next to them.

The Arena had quietened considerably, fading sounds from all around as tributes explored. There was a piercing, screaming cry to signal another death, and although neither was really sure who had initiated it each of the two Gladers found their hand gripping that of the other. Thomas squeezed hard, the sick feeling returning. Newt had closed his eyes. He was grimacing when Thomas looked at him.

They sat for a long moment after the voice had stopped screaming. They didn't talk about it. It had made Thomas's mind up for him.

"We should get down, see what's in these packs and find food. We might need..."

He didn't finish, throwing Newt an uneasy look. Instead he began busying himself with moving, carefully turning to begin his descent. Newt knew what he had been about to say. The same thought had been worrying him. The only food source they knew of was in the centre. And the chances of them getting there and back without meeting any trouble were practically non-existent.

He followed Thomas quietly, the journey down longer than the way up, as always. When they reached the ground Thomas sat with his back to a tree, and Newt did the same across from him. At least they had most angles covered if someone were to sneak up on them.

Thomas tossed him the smaller of the two packs and unzipped his own, his bow lying innocently at his side.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys!  
> This is the last Chapter before our favourite Ivy Trio meet for the first time.
> 
> I know people are excited to see Minho appear, believe me i have been so buggin' excited writing it, i've had his entrance written since i posted the first Chapter. Minho will be in the next Chapter. (I am literally fangirling. Who doesn't love Minho!?!?)
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always to those who comment/review. I LOVE to hear what you like about Chapters, and i am open to any and all criticism. If i'm doing a bad job, or something jumps out at you please let me know.
> 
> Happy Reading!

As they inspected their supplies, the Glader boys discussed where they thought the Arena was at. Thomas recounted everything he'd seen in the BloodBath, from the screamer who had fallen to the tribute he'd seen stay grounded behind Brenda. He stuttered over the recollection of the girl, and Newt felt his heart fall as Thomas explained he hadn't been able to get his bow from his shoulder, had dropped his knives.

_He'd killed her with just an arrow._

Doing so had really shaken him up, and Newt couldn't think of anything that would be remotely comforting about that fact. Added to the screaming they had heard in the trees and they estimated that they could rely on at least four deaths, even though they were sure there were more. The cannon wouldn't go until Midnight that night, when the sky would clear to show them all who wouldn't be leaving the deathtrap that was the Arena.

The contents of Newt's pack were pretty basic. He took each out carefully, placing them in a neat pile. He had a length of thin, pleated rope with small hooks on either end, an empty water bottle, a flat plane of shimmery material that revealed itself to be a swathe of clear film when Newt picked at the corner. He guessed it was for wrapping food in.

There was also a tiny metal compass and a little white plastic bottle like what the better medic in the Glade had imported from the Capitol. There was no label, but when he opened the lid to look inside at the little black tablets Thomas answered his unspoken question.

"I think they're for water. To clean it for drinking."

Newt flashed him a look, a relieved smile on his lips. Thomas looked like he'd had better luck with his own rucksack.

It was the one he'd taken from her, the flat panel that had rested against her back was still damp from where her blood had soaked through. Thomas tried not to think about it as he copied Newt's process, taking each item out quickly, eager to take stock and replace them all in case they had to move in a hurry.

He'd the same rope as Newt, and not one but _two_ identical little pill bottles, but none of the filmy stuff. He had an identical water bottle but his was full, and he tossed it over to Newt with a grin. The grateful smile the blonde shot him made his heart leap.

They could do this. He just had to keep believing that.

He too had a compass, an odd little thing in dull metal and red, with white scripture inside. His pack had a bundle of material that was almost identical to that of their clothing, and when he unravelled it all he was pleased to see it was a lightweight sleeping bag. When he lay it on the mossy ground beside him he was even more pleased. It didn't disappear or anything like that, but it seemed to reflect the green around it, making it almost look like it was part of the forest floor. When he looked to Newt the blonde was staring at it with a fascinated expression.

"Now _that_ is brilliant." Newt breathed.

Thomas thought that was a fair enough assessment. At the bottom of his rucksack he found a small cardboard square with little black things that filled him with optimism, and a small pocketknife. The latter he gave to Newt along with one of the knives he'd picked up earlier.

"They gave us flints." he said excitedly, looking up to meet Newt's matching stare.

"Well i'll _be_ … That's buggin' _marvellous_ , Tommy!"

Thomas chuckled, slotting the little square carefully back into the pack, his grin wide and relieved.

"We might just stand a chance yet." he said softly, thanking whoever had packed the rucksack for giving him the stronger possibility of keeping the precious blonde safe. The very last item in his pack surprised Thomas while making his stomach growl loudly.

In his palm lay a fat rectangular energy bar. He recognised it as the same type that had been present in the Food Carriage on the train, and in their suite at the Training Facility. He remembered that the one he'd tried out of curiosity had tasted ridiculously sweet, but had been deceptively filling. He tossed it over to his friend, trading it for the water bottle. He took a small swig from as he watched Newt break open the bar. As Newt carefully halved it Thomas rolled the sleeping bag back up.

The water was soothing and cool, and he was tempted to drink more than he did. But they'd need it. The body of water he'd seen was bound to be where everyone would head, and it'd be dangerous to go. He had to hope that there was a water-source somewhere in the forestry, because if not then tributes were going to die at an alarming rate.

When they'd re-packed their rucksacks - putting the water in Thomas's pack and the tablets in Newt's - and shared the energy bar between them they stood. An air of anticipation had settled over them and Newt looked at him expectantly. Somehow it seemed natural for Thomas to lead, even though he felt Newt was the calmest. Newt followed him quietly through the trees, and the only comfort Thomas could think of was that at least this time he had company while he crept around on high alert.

The walked for an hour, maybe more, before the trees began to thin out. It was gradual, and Newt didn't notice at first. But eventually he realised that they had passed two clearings in as many minutes, small areas of inviting flat mossy ground between the imposing trunks. He wondered if they were designed specifically to attract tributes to camp out. They seemed the most logical place so far, the only more interesting prospect he could think of the buildings in the sandy section.

There was a rustling up ahead and Thomas dropped into a crouch, his arm flying up instantly to pull his surprised companion down, the other hand reaching for his bow.

Newt had always been impressed by Thomas's archery skills, which were much better than his own, and it had always been something he'd found embarrassingly attractive about him. He didn't really know why, just that the elegance that the brunette displayed, the precision, the concentration… It was striking and beautiful, and Newt's heart constricted at the thought that it would soon be tainted by killing. He watched Thomas fit the arrow against the string, raising what had once been a hobby and was now a weapon.

They were still and silent, crouching close together as they listened to the noise. Newt was see-sawing between the belief that he was imagining things and the hope that it was just an animal. Something flashed up ahead and Thomas barely twitched, sending the arrow in his fingers flying in a disturbingly graceful flight. He heard the muffled sound as it slid easily through flesh. He heard the surprised and frenzied flapping as the target fell. Before Newt had even registered what Thomas had hit the boy had sent another arrow into the air, and was rewarded with the same stomach-churning tearing sound.

He watched Thomas creep forward, the bow still in his hand but arrowless. Thomas reached behind the tree, and Newt felt a heartbeat of fear as he almost disappeared from view. But then he was looking back at Newt and grinning, his face flushed with accomplishment as he held his kill up for him to see.

"Fancy duck for dinner?" the brunette teased in a relieved breathlessness.

Newt relaxed, his quiet chuckle warming the air as Thomas came back over.

"So they don't want us to buggin' starve, then." he replied, watching as Thomas set to work retrieving his arrows.

The birds were fat and quite big for ducks, and the boys made curious small talk about them as they moved to one of the little clearings. They didn't really need to talk about what they were doing, both setting to work collecting the driest twigs they could find, stripping them of their soft greenery and bark as best they could. Thomas rooted around looking for stones as Newt cleared a small circle of moss, using the penknife to sever roots and help him turn over the soil underneath. They worked quietly, and even though they'd never built a fire outside of their own homes they did a fair enough job.

Newt sat back to clean the blade of the penknife as he watched Thomas arranging the little pieces of wood, packing them into the ring of stones. They'd agreed it best to get the ducks cooked quickly while it was still light, the fire as small as they could reasonably make it so as to try not to attract attention.

"We'd better be fast." Thomas murmured as he set to work with one of the precious little flints from his pack.

"And lucky." he replied, deeming the blade clean enough to start stripping the first bird.

He'd had to prepare food like this from an early age, and as Thomas sat back to see to the second bird Newt smiled fondly at him. Thomas had performed the task before, of course, but he was watching how Newt did it, mimicking him as they sat side by side with their backs against a particularly large tree trunk.

"I'm glad we're here together." Thomas murmured after a while, when they were separating the ducks into cookable portions.

Newt looked over, finding those honey-brown eyes on him. Thomas had stopped what he was doing, looking at Newt shyly, clearly conflicted. He smiled at him.

"Me too, Tommy."

They went back to the task at hand. The fire had started up, the dry twigs producing a thankfully small coil of pale smoke. Newt was slotting pieces of flesh onto long sticks he'd stripped, placing the first two over the flames when Thomas spoke again. They'd lain a small square of Newt's film over the forest floor between them and Thomas was setting the clean pieces of pale duck onto it.

"I'm still sort of mad that you're not safe at home, but… I- well." he broke off with a small snort and a shrug.

Newt reached over and squeezed his arm.

"I know."

Thomas smiled but he didn't look up, continuing to strip the duck. The duck cooked reasonably easily, and just short of an hour later they were finishing up. Thomas kicked the loose dirt over the flames, kicking the stones around to try and hide the evidence of a fire. Newt set to work wrapping the duck in pieces of film he'd cut carefully from the bundle.

"I'm going to scout a bit, see how near the water we are. Maybe won't be too far if the ducks are wandering about."

Newt looked up, fear gripping him at the thought of having Thomas out of sight. Thomas was looking at him, his grip relaxed around his bow. Newt's heart missed a beat as the familiar feeling of affection flooded him. It swelled painfully as though taunting him for allowing Thomas to own his heart. Right then Thomas was possibly the most gorgeous he'd ever seen him. He wondered if he felt like that because they were surrounded by the possibility of death.

He opened his mouth to tell Thomas to be careful, to come back, to not die. He opened his mouth to tell him not to go, not to leave him behind. It seemed his mouth had other ideas.

"I love you."


	14. Chapter 14

He was startled by his own admission, one hand coming up to touch his lips as he shot Thomas a wide-eyed look. Thomas looked less than surprised, his eyes were almost sad, and he swallowed, looking off in the direction where they'd been headed before. Newt felt a painful embarrassment twist and bloat in his abdomen, chasing the nice feeling of affection, chewing on it. He returned to the duck, wrapping one piece a little too tightly as he felt his face burn.

_Stupid, what the bloody hell did ya do that for?_

_That's really not what we need right now._

_Newt, ya bloody wanker._

He swallowed, hoping he wasn't going to cry but feeling the tell-tale heat in his eyes. Nothing happened for a terribly long time. He was almost sure Thomas had left, but he wasn't brave enough to look up. When Thomas spoke it made him jump.

"I know." he said, shuffling his feet.

"Good." Newt replied, swallowing his premature relief.

Thomas might not want to stick together if he thought… It had been entirely different confessing on the stage. Even though it was a Panem-wide Broadcast it was actually less horrific than confessing in person. Thomas hadn't been there, right in front of him. And they hadn't spoken about it, Thomas hadn't asked, had pretended it hadn't happened. Even though he'd said it wouldn't change anything Newt couldn't quash the fear that it would. Thomas was his only real friend in the world and he was the only thing keeping Newt going. He wouldn't care if Thomas weren't here with him. He was almost certain he'd have given up by now, or been caught and killed.

"I told you it wouldn't change anything, and it won't."

He looked up to see Thomas looking down at his own feet, his expression serious and thoughtful. Newt felt calmer already, even as he worried at Thomas's demeanour.

"Sorry, Tommy." he whispered.

And then the moment was over and Thomas snorted, a spluttering chuckle that lit his eyes as he grinned and threw Newt a look from under his messy fringe. Newt could feel his lips smiling back before Thomas even spoke, a warm feeling enveloping him when their eyes met.

"Don't be. Love you too, shank."

Newt met his eye with an amused half-smile, ignoring the way in which embarrassment overtook him. He shot the younger boy a glare when he sniggered.

"You're adorable when you're red." Thomas teased, and Newt rolled his eyes, huffing out a sigh and trying to cover up the fact that he felt exposed.

"I take it back, you can bugger off now."

Thomas made an amused noise and his grin softened into something fond. Newt was still feeling embarrassed and exposed but he smiled back softly.

"I won't go too far." Thomas promised him.

And then he was gone, through the trees and out of sight before Newt's laugh even left his lips. Worry clawed in his gut at Thomas leaving his side but he continued to grin widely as he finished up with the duck, setting to work on destroying the evidence that they had been there, stamping out the embers and throwing dirt over the small mound.

He gathered up handfuls of tiny twigs from the underbrush around their clearing, and used the knife Thomas had given him to cut clumps of moss from different spots. He tried to make it look like someone hadn't been rooting around, but he wasn't really sure he'd managed it very well. He returned to the dead fire, setting down his knife as he scattered foliage over the area. It wasn't very long before he heard the approaching footsteps, a smile on his face and anticipation swelling in his chest as he began to scatter the last of his twigs around the clearing. All he had to do next was collect leaves to finish the job.

He didn't realise that something was wrong until the presence he felt arrive in their clearing wasn't Thomas.

Newt's head flew up and his brown eyes widened at the sight of another tribute. Barely three feet away stood a broad-shouldered and muscle-armed asian boy with a sweep of shockingly black hair that ended in a practical curve at the front and stayed out of his eyes. He had a long-bladed knife in his hand and the edge glinted silver in the dying light. Newt's fingers curled reflexively, his own knife less than half a foot from where his knee lay in the moss.

"I wouldn't." the dark-haired boy said, his voice level and even as his dark blue eyes tracked Newt from head to toe. Newt swallowed, feeling the fight or flight rising in him but he didn't move. The boy looked serious and deadly, his face gave nothing away. He jerked his head.

"Stand up. Don't even think about reaching for it. You won't make it."

Newt raised his hands, palms out and non-threatening. He got up slowly, not even daring to blink. His heart was thumping in his chest as he stared back the other boy, fear flushing into his bloodstream.

He hadn't seen the direction he'd come from.

_Had he come across Thomas?_

_Did he-_

_What if-_

_What if his Tommy was-_

He felt like he was going to be sick.

_Please be okay, Tommy._

He didn't show his fear, his face straight and carefully blank.

"You don't look much like a Career." the asian boy murmured thoughtfully, before his dark gaze flicked to either side. "And they'd be grouped together by now, already formed. Probably out hunting the Gladers, i bet."

His mouth curved wryly at Newt's instinctive flinch. He rolled the handle of the knife in his hand, letting it travel from the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers and back. The casual movement made Newt more nervous than he cared to admit.

"Glader. I knew it, pegged you right away." the tribute sounded almost pleased with himself. "Safety in numbers man, you never pay attention to the Games? Shuck stupid for a scrawny shank like you to be alone, even more so for a Glader."

"Who said he's alone?"

Newt felt his knees tremble with relief at the sound of Thomas's voice, even if it was as cold as ice like it was in that moment. The younger boy had simply melted from the trees, his bow cocked and an arrow between his fingers already, the green tip aimed right at the asian boy. Newt tried not to show how weak the relief made him feel.

Thomas was there.

It was going to be okay.

The intruder had whipped around when Thomas had spoken, and he was looking at Thomas with a speculative expression. Newt thought he had to be going mad because the boy looked almost _awed_. He looked at Thomas, sweeping over him head to toe like he had Newt before he lowered his knife a little, levelled it with his hip. He loosened his stance, becoming slightly less threatening. Thomas stayed exactly where he was, bow raised and his face set in a hard expression.

"Drop it." Thomas hissed, his eyes locked on the intruder's face, his teeth almost baring around his words. Newt had never seen Thomas so dark, so dangerous, and even though he knew they'd need it if they wanted to survive any length of time in this hellish place it scared him a little.

The tribute shook his head once, a slow turn from left to right and back that seemed just as calculated as his gaze.

"If you're going to kill me i won't be letting ya do it empty-handed."

Thomas thought about it, looking at the boy carefully. The tribute spread his hands out at his sides as though to prove his honesty, but neither Glader was fooled by the loose grasp he still had around his knife. Newt shifted his weight to his other foot, his nerves tingling with adrenaline as the two dark-haired boys stared, like two leading pack animals each trying to work the other out. Thomas spoke first. He didn't take his eyes off the tribute, didn't even move his head and yet it was clear his words were for his friend.

"Keep your knife handy and finish covering that fire."

Newt obeyed without a word, relieved to be doing something other than standing still amidst the air of almost primal danger rolling around them. Thomas continued to study the intruding tribute carefully, and the other boy just met his gaze impassively. He didn't make any move to attack, but nor did he put his knife away. Suddenly, Thomas's shoulders lowered a fraction of an inch. It was almost unnoticeable. Newt only knew what it meant because he'd known him all his life. Thomas had come to a decision. Newt looked at him anxiously, gripping his knife tightly. He knew their own safety was paramount but the thought of killing someone, especially in a situation like this, turned his stomach sour.


	15. Chapter 15

"Thomas." Thomas said, and jerked his head in Newt's direction. "Newt."

The boy didn't react, simply blinking that impassive stare. And then he surprised Newt so much he almost dropped the bundle of leaves he was scattering over the ashes. The asian boy very slowly tucked the blade of the knife into a loop on the leather that criss-crossed his chest, holding out a hand to Thomas. After a moment's hesitation Thomas lowered the bow, holding both it and the arrow in one hand as he accepted the offered handshake.

"Minho." the newcomer said. "Got any water tablets? I got a flask and i found water but some shank bitch sliced my pack and i lost my tabs."

Newt was surprised at how casually the boy asked, and that Thomas almost smiled in reply. Okay so he wasn't smiling at all, but Newt could see in his eyes that he wanted to. Newt had the tablets in his pack, so he looked to Thomas for direction. The younger boy was so calm and together in a way that Newt couldn't even r _emember_ feeling, he was so jacked. It felt automatic to trust Thomas's judgement, and so far they'd survived nearly till nightfall without too much trouble so Newt would continue to follow his lead. Thomas's dark eyes landed on him and when he tipped his chin he nodded back.

Minho grinned when Newt tossed him their spare bottle, and when he did it changed his whole face. His blue eyes were something closer to royal blue than oceanic, and his eyes creased at the sides. He looked like he liked to smile, Newt thought. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks. You shanks cope okay without them?" He looked between them both, his smile turning bizarrely playful. "Don't look so surprised. I'm a friendly guy, you just don't know who ya can trust out here, y'know?"

They _did_ know, and Newt found that something about Minho put him at ease. If they were to decide to take on allies after all, he'd be one that Newt would choose. He looked to Thomas again, shooting him a look when he saw that Thomas had gone back to handling his bow with both hands. Even if it was lowered. Newt thought it felt kind of, well, _rude_. Thomas rolled his eyes at him but shouldered the bow with a sigh. He kept a hold of the arrow though, rolling it absently between his fingers. Newt wasn't fooled.

He'd seen the evidence of the damage Thomas could do with just the arrow, he didn't need the bow.

He kicked more shrubbery over the remains of their fire before he felt satisfied that he'd tried his best to hide the evidence that they'd been there. Thomas was so much better at this than he was, thinking of everything and taking it all in his stride. Newt was freaking out on the inside, burning up with fear, and yet Thomas seemed to just adapt as though a switch in his head put him into _Game_ _Mode_.

It was _weird_.

But then again, he'd always found Thomas an oddball; he was friendly and caring and yet he chose to distance himself from people. It occurred to Newt that maybe that practice at keeping distant was what was making this so much easier for him now.

When Thomas stepped over beside him Newt smiled, touching a hand to his arm in thanks before handing over one of the little parcels he'd made with the film and the duck. Thomas grinned his thanks and set to unwrapping it, obviously starving. Newt lifted one for himself from the pack before glancing over at Minho, feeling awkward.

The asian boy was looking out through the trees as though on alert, but Newt could see the hunger in his expression. He hesitated for a moment before he tossed a parcel at the boy, who turned to catch it with reflexes that seriously messed with Newt's comfort level. Minho had his hand on the handle of one of his knives, had the blade half-drawn from the leather straps he wore.

Minho looked up at Newt in clear surprise, before he smiled at him again. Newt was sure then that he would choose Minho as an ally, and thought about raising the issue with Thomas then and there. Minho was obviously lethal with those knives of his, and Newt couldn't help but think that they'd be better with that lethal beside them than before them. He bit his tongue at the last minute though, caution catching him. Perhaps it'd be best to wait and see if Minho could be trusted first.

"So what happened to the others from your district?"

Thomas's voice was level but Newt could hear the curiosity. Until the first Cannons went off at Midnight they had no idea how their opponents were faring. Thomas had been quick to get them away from the others. Besides the screaming tribute they'd heard fall at the Bloodbath, the one Thomas had seen killed behind Brenda, the scream when they were in the trees and _the girl_ that Thomas had had to kill they knew pretty much nothing about anybody else except that Minho wasn't dead. Minho shrugged, settling himself on a rock far enough away from Newt that he didn't make him nervous. He set to peeling back the thin film, looking so strangely at ease that Newt felt more uncomfortable.

"No idea. Hope they got Gally already though, he's a right crank and it'll be hard as shuck to get to him without getting killed. Harriet and Beth are a whole other story. They're good fighters in fair circumstances but not if they're outnumbered. Probably already dead."

He bit into the cooked duck that Newt had given him, seeming and sounding as if it didn't really bother him. Newt shifted, suddenly unable to finish his own meagre portion. Thomas threw him a glance that told him they'd be watching out for Minho. He may not necessarily attack them at any moment but his nonchalance at the thought of his fellow district tributes made Thomas as nervous as it did Newt, he was sure. As if he could feel the look Minho lifted his head, looking between them.

"You two sure stuck together though. Hoping to break the Glader rule?"

Newt shrugged, fiddling with the plastic film as he dragged it tightly back over his food. He was trying not to let himself think too far ahead. In the moment, one minute at a time, that was how to do it. Thomas bristled though, taking evident offence to Minho's words.

"What kind of people ditch their own? Don't you feel anything?"

Minho looked surprised and then his face went carefully blank again, before he levelled a heavy gaze at Thomas.

"Where are the female tributes from your district, _Thomas_? Did you ditch them?"

Thomas opened his mouth with a glare, but Newt stepped in with his arms spread before Thomas could spit out what Newt knew would be fighting words.

"Fair enough." he reasoned, as loudly as he dared in the growing dimness. "We split. They weren't big on the idea of bein' easier to hunt down because we were all together. We did want to stick together but you can't force that."

Thomas backed off when Newt spoke, his outrage gone as though the blonde had flicked it away with the gesture of his arms. Minho glanced between them. Then he nodded, and shrugged again. He had relaxed and he went back to finishing off what was left of the food Newt had given him.

"It's just logical. One person's easier to hide and easier to clean up after than two, or four."

He licked the grease off his fingers, looking thoughtful as he did so. Thomas had sat down close to Newt, their shoulders almost touching. The chill sweeping over the Arena grew as the darkness gathered and the warmth radiating from the younger boy soothed Newt in a way that food and water hadn't managed. They watched Minho curiously.

"Nobody to watch your back if you're on your own." Newt muttered carefully.

He avoided pointing out the obvious that he would probably have been killed if he'd been on his own, without Thomas. Thomas shifted, pressing their shoulders firmly together in response. He knew his friend had his back. It scared him to think of the danger Thomas would likely have to put himself in over however long they lasted here. Thomas was ridiculous like that. He was horribly certain that Thomas would die for him, and he didn't like the odds that he would have to.

Minho's blue eyes had returned to them at Newt's words, and he was studying them both very seriously. Thomas was staring back stonily, but Newt could see his brain working behind his eyes. Minho raised his eyebrows slightly and pulled a face that said he thought Newt had a fair point. Eventually he met Newt's eyes before he turned his gaze on Thomas.

"You shanks saved me a grisly death from bad water."

He looked down at the ball of film in his hand with thoughtful eyes. He held up up as though to show them it.

"And from being outed in the dark by a growling gut."

He tucked the ball into a pocket on his leather harness before he looked at them again, cocking his head as his eyes flicked between them.

"Maybe you got a point, sticking together. _Maybe_. I sure as shuck can't go slitting your throats now that you've done that." he shook his head slowly. "Wouldn't be right. I'll go now, hands up and no funny business, on my word."

He paused, as though debating something before he continued.

"But i'm pretty sure i'd find it interesting to see how you shanks get on. Can't be much harder to cover up after three than two." Here he flashed a wicked smirk that made Newt feel edgy. "Especially if two of 'em are klunk-footed Gladers."

Newt looked at Thomas, sure that regardless of what he himself wanted Thomas would make the right decision, the safest choice. Thomas was watching Minho silently, evaluating. Newt swallowed, looking back at their potential ally.

"Maybe we should, Tommy." he murmured.

He wouldn't say anything else on the matter, he wouldn't try to sway him either way. He had sworn to himself he would follow Thomas's lead, that he wouldn't question it. They wouldn't fall apart as a unit because he disagreed with anything. He would make sure they were in this together till the end because the thought of being out here, in the Arena and surrounded by death - in the form of the GameMakers or the tributes didn't matter - without his Tommy by his side was just out of the question. Thomas looked at him and Newt met his golden brown eyes evenly, letting him know he was with him. No matter what the decision. Thomas turned back to Minho.

And then he just stood up and shouldered his pack, picking up the arrow from where it had fallen at his feet and tucking it between one strap and his shoulder. Newt mirrored him, gathering up their things in silence. Eventually Thomas threw a glance at Minho. The asian boy hadn't moved, simply sitting calmly and awaiting Thomas's decision. Thomas smirked, jerking his head towards Minho's discarded rucksack.

"We best get going. Dangerous to stay in one place too long. We need to find somewhere to catch some sleep."

Minho flashed his wicked grin again and jumped to his feet, tossing his pack over his shoulder and standing before them like a soldier awaiting orders. Newt smiled. They'd be safer in a three, he was sure of it. Extra footprints or not, Minho's knife-skills were an asset they couldn't afford to pass up. A glance at Thomas told him the brunette felt the same.

As one, the three boys skirted the little crop of trees they had been camped in and set off at a quiet slow jog. There had been a definite change in the light that filtered through the canopy of the trees since he'd entered the treeline. Shadows were longer, more substantial. By his estimation it was around six, maybe seven. In around ten hours it would officially count as morning. Newt was beginning to allow himself the hope that they would indeed break the long-standing Glader rule.

Maybe a Glader could survive a night in the Arena after all.


	16. Chapter 16

Thomas had been right, they'd been very close to the place where the trees gave way to the waterside, and he'd also been right about people heading there. He hadn't stayed, decided by the sight of five other tributes lurking by the water's edge on the opposite side, and another hidden in the trees behind them. Probably on look-out. He hadn't been able to see them properly across the dancing light across that incredibly blue surface.

He couldn't make out faces but one of them had very dark skin and he was almost certain it was the tribute Newt had picked out as the perpetually grumpy Forehead. He had made sure they hadn't seen him before he headed back to Newt. The last thing he needed was to lead anyone towards his friend.

Thomas had never been so frightened as when he heard the quiet footsteps somewhere in front of him, headed in the same direction he was. It had been agony to follow quietly, knowing they were going to come across his district-mate but unable to stop them now in case they weren't alone. He had followed behind, the distance between himself and the intruder far too large if they attacked Newt right away.

He couldn't remember drawing his bow, only that he had, and when he'd rounded on the boy he now knew to be Minho there had been a moment where he'd almost loosed the arrow straight away. All that had stopped him was the sweet relief that filled Newt's face, the warmth his eyes had held when he'd seen Thomas. Thomas had felt so horrendously cornered when he'd see that blade pointed at _his_ friend.

As he jogged through the trees with Newt on one side and their new ally on the other Thomas felt both relieved and incredibly paranoid. He didn't want to spill any more blood if he could help it, but what if it was a trick? What if they were being led into a trap? What if his inability to kill the asian boy got Newt hurt?

Thomas shook his head as a migraine began to form. He had to force things out of his brain because if he didn't he'd go crazy.

_Keep it simple, Thomas._

_Keep your head._

_Keep Newt Safe._

Thomas estimated an hour had gone by before they found the slope. They'd headed on an almost perpendicular course, further into the forest and away from the centre. If the Arena was roughly the average of its usual size he guessed they must be nearing the outer edge by now. Unless it was on the big side this year to allow more space for more tributes to roam, in which case it could be anywhere. He figured that the further out they went the less chance they had of being stumbled upon by Careers. Or anyone else.

Thomas eyed the slope. At first it had him feeling edgy, wondering what the purpose of such a thing could be. They slowed and then stopped, and as Newt sank down to the forest floor to catch his breath Thomas and Minho investigated the grassy mound and the surrounding area.

Curiosity soon led to a quiet sense of relief building in Thomas's chest. The trees near the mound and those covering its summit were different from the ones they'd been passing since they entered the Arena. The trunks were much thicker around and the branches much denser. It would make them easier to climb, which was both a relief and a worry. When you looked up through the canopy you discovered something else.

The trees on the mound were shorter than the rest of the forest, making their top branches level with those below even though they were standing on the very crest of the slope. Thomas felt muscles loosen in his stomach.

It mean that even if they climbed right to the top they'd still be just as hidden as they would in the taller trees, with the added bonus of thicker branches _and_ the higher ground. Thomas was almost smiling when they made their way back to Newt, and truly smiling by the time he reached him. Newt flashed him a warm smile as he stood to meet them, pulling Thomas into a brief hug.

It was unnecessary, they'd only been out of sight for ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but as soon as Newt's arms crossed his back he felt better. If Minho thought their behaviour odd he didn't say anything, looking off into the trees with the same unreadable expression they had seen earlier.

"We should find somewhere safe, catch some sleep while we can. If i know Gally he'll have joined the Careers by now, and he's not one to give up when there's something he wants." Minho turned to look at them both with his dark blue eyes. "He'll want you two shanks dead, you can bet on it."

Thomas swallowed as he was brought back into the moment with a bump. They had to find somewhere safe to camp, and as he looked up at the fat trees on the slope he knew it was really the safest choice they had. As always, Newt seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Trees are the safest place near here." he spoke softly. "We'd have to go all the way up, can't risk 'em findin' us near the ground."

Minho released a shallow groan.

"Why doesn't it sound like you're joking?" the dark-haired boy muttered, looking up into the trees.

Thomas chuckled. "Because he's not."

Minho sighed, throwing them an unimpressed look.

"Easy for you to say, you're both smaller than me. Shuck, he looks like he _lives_ in a tree. Scrawny shank."

Despite the way Minho's comment made Thomas bristle just a little, Newt snorted beside him. The blonde looked amused, his eyes alight with humour in a way that warmed Thomas's heart. When he saw Thomas looking he grinned at him.

"Yeah well. We can't all be buggin' knife throwers, now can we?"

Minho raised an eyebrow but didn't turn round, looking back up into the trees again.

"How do you know i throw them?"

Newt shrugged, adjusting his pack on his shoulders and starting towards his chosen tree.

"I'm psychic." he stated. "Obviously."

Minho laughed, following Newt's lead and picking out a tree. Thomas didn't need to think about his, simply following Newt to the trunk of his tree. When Newt was four or five feet up he turned his face down to look at Thomas he smiled mischievously, the way he always had when they went climbing in the Glade.

"Catch me if you can!" he called down.

The familiar sing-song tease wrapped itself firmly around Thomas's heart, making him wish more than ever they were back in their field, racing through the trees. It was something that had come into being when they were younger, born from a fairytale that Newt had favoured.

"You ain't no Gingerbread Man." he finished dutifully.

Newt's chuckle floated down as Thomas began to climb, glancing over to see Minho having less trouble than he'd made out in climbing his own tree. Thomas focused on testing each branch before he pulled himself up. The very last thing he needed was to fall out of a tree and break his neck. It'd be pretty difficult to keep Newt safe if he did that.

The blonde scaled the tree like it was nothing, and he was soon high above Thomas, settled on a deep V made by two thick boughs. He was watching Thomas climb with a wistful sort of look on his face, and Thomas felt sad without knowing why.


	17. Chapter 17

The sun had all but set by the time the three boys felt they were perched high enough, and the temperature in the Arena was definitely dropping at an unnatural rate. Minho had drawn an identical sleeping bag to Thomas's from his own pack and had already ensconced himself in it. He was propped against the trunk of the tree two over from Thomas and Newt, just within line of sight. Not that they could guarantee that would be the case once darkness truly fell.

The light was fading much slower than the temperature, probably designed to allow the tributes the greatest length of time possible to slaughter each other before night fell. It made Thomas feel both incredibly angry and a little helpless, and if he spent a little too long checking Newt was secure in the tree beside him then who could blame him?

He twisted this way and that to remove everything he was carrying from his back, taking a bit of a gamble by hooking his bow and quiver on a shorter branch near his head. He should have plenty of time to reach it if they were found, and he'd have a pretty good chance of using it, unless the attacker was an archer, in which case he'd be at a disadvantage anyway. He could only hope that Teresa didn't come across them. She was the only archer he knew of, none of the others had gone near a bow on the Training Days. Not that that meant they couldn't use one. Thomas sighed as he opened his rucksack. Thinking of all the different ways they could die, and all the different tributes who looked like they could kill him was just too much for his head. He was tiring already, and they hadn't even made it to nightfall just yet. Stifling a yawn, he pulled the rolled-up sleeping bag from the pack, handing it to the quiet blonde beside him. Newt looked at him with his familiar frown, and Thomas sighed. Newt was going to argue, of course.

"This is yours." he whispered predictably.

Thomas shot him a half-smile and tipped his chin towards the bundle of thin material.

"It's _ours_ ," he corrected with a smile. "and anyway, you're the one who gets cold in the Summer."

"But _Tommy_ -"

"Just get in it, shuck-face."

Newt rolled his eyes at being cut off but surprisingly did as he was told. It was a slow and awkward process and Thomas helped him, both of them growing bizarrely amused and stifling giggles. By the time they had him cocooned in the weird camouflage material it was getting cold and the sun was truly gone. Newt wriggled dangerously, tucking himself up against Thomas's side. They had used the odd hook-ended ropes to wrap around their waists and secure themselves to the branches beneath them, and although it restricted movement quite substantially it made the clawing fear in Thomas's stomach abate somewhat.

Thomas had his back against the trunk, his rucksack hooked over his chest instead. Newt's smaller pack was zipped into his sleeping bag with him, at his feet. Thomas had teased Newt about the length of sleeping bag still left once he was inside and Newt had huffed. It wasn't his fault he was slight, and Thomas had ruffled his hair to make up for it. Although Newt had batted at him and called him a girl, Thomas hadn't missed the way those amber-brown eyes warmed, or the slight pink in his cheeks. He had smiled at Newt as the blonde squirmed, looking like a boy-sized caterpillar. Newt shot him an unamused glare when he sniggered, deliberately banging his head against the soft part under Thomas's arm.

Eventually they were settled, the bout of mirth gone. The evening was coming to life around them. Thomas had his arm around Newt, holding him to his side and telling himself it was only so that the blonde wouldn't fall from their little nest. Newt had twisted to his side and now lay with his head on Thomas's lower stomach, curls in the crease where Thomas's body folded as he sat. The forest was quiet around them, the only sounds in the following hours gentle birdsong and the scuffle of unknown animals in the brush. Dusk was fading into true night as Thomas drifted into a light, unsettled sleep. He jerked awake every ten minutes or so with the faux feeling of falling. Still, even cat naps were better than no naps, right?

Newt was asleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing Thomas. His shallow breaths puffed against Thomas's hand where it lay near Newt's face, and Thomas's thumb absently brushed the pale cheek as he dozed. One pale hand had escaped the edge of the sleeping bag and the fingers curled gently in the material of Thomas's jacket, making Thomas feel warm and fond, a feeling that fought the growing coldness in his limbs.

His legs were numb when he was forced awake by the booming sound and for a second of pure terror Thomas had no idea where he was. He blinked awake in the darkness knowing Mary would kill him if she knew he'd been in the forest after sunset. He could see the faint white of his breaths in the air and shivered, waking properly. And then Newt was stirring against him, trying to sit up, and it all came back and for a dizzying moment he wanted to cry. The cannon boomed again and this time he knew what it was, looking up at the blank sky as the red lights flickered and feel across the surface like fireworks.

"We made it to Midnight." Newt murmured softly, covering a yawn with his hand.

Thomas didn't reply, just squeezing Newt gently in a one-armed hug and keeping his gaze on the sky. How many of them had died today? He tried counting the bangs but was almost sure he'd missed count somewhere.

_15? 16?_

The rectangle he was waiting for flickered to life, a small female face filling one half. The other had text. The image wavered in the sky like a flag in a gentle breeze and somehow made it even more awful as the faces of the dead appeared and the haunting Capitol anthem began to play.

With horror in his heart Thomas watched.

The Tech-Science district had lost a girl called Sasha who looked fifteen and sweet, her hair in two short braids that twisted Thomas's stomach.

A boy with a mop of black curls called Ethan had died too.

_Left with two._

The Textiles&Clothing district had almost been killed off already.

Two boys and a girl dead.

_That makes three._

Luxury Foods&Items.

A boy and a girl, both looking thirteen at most.

 _Five_.

Their own district of Agriculture, as it was officially called, skipped past without mention.

 _No deaths_.

_Teresa and Brenda are still alive out there._

The thought was comforting and saddening at the same time.

The Masonry district, also known for Athletics and Strength was skipped too.

 _Minho's district_.

_No deaths._

The Lumber district had lost both girls, both around eighteen and their expressions empty in the blank sky.

 _Fifteen left_.

The Fishing district had lost two tributes, again a boy and a girl.

The dead boy had had a thin scar down his cheek and an ancient, rugged look even though he could only have been sixteen. The girl was lean and her eyes were fiery in her neutral face.

_Seventeen left._

Both female tributes from the Mining district dead, sallow skinned girls with blank eyes for whom life had always been hard.

_Nineteen._

The same went for the Medical district. Two more girls dead. The Arena was dominated by a male population this year. It seemed more uneven than usual, but not unheard of.

_Twenty-One tributes._

The Power district had met the same fate as Textiles, with a single male tribute surviving so far.

_Twenty-Two._

Livestock was the same, two dead girls around seventeen and a boy who looked as mean as shuck and must have been twelve even though he looked ten.

 _Twenty-Three_.

Transport lost a girl and a boy.

_Twenty-Five._

The girl made Thomas's heart stop. Even though he'd been waiting for it he wasn't prepared for the forceful surge of guilt, the sting of grief.

 _Melody_.

Her name had been _Melody_.

Thomas balked as the last face faded the closing anthem played and the rectangle faded back into the blank midnight sky. Quiet settled like a possessive blanket, filling their ears as they breathed it in.

He felt her face burning behind his eyelids when he blinked, her pale blue eyes staring into his head, into his soul as his heart hammered awfully in his chest.

He'd killed her.

He'd done it.

He'd put her face up there just as surely as the GameMakers had and he felt sick all over again.

A rush of anger burned amongst the guilt like a fire amongst oil.

Forty-eight teenagers had come up in those glass tubes, several barely old enough to be in the corrals at all.

_Forty-eight._

And now there were twenty-five left.

 _Twenty-shucking-five_.

Forty-eight _kids_ \- for that's they were when it came down to it, wasn't it? - had stepped off their little platform circles when the Cannon for the BloodBath rang out and twenty-three of them were already dead.

Because of some stupid Capitol decree made by people who were long dead to punish other people who were long dead for the crime of speaking up when they were treated unfairly.

Twenty-three sons and daughters who wouldn't be going home ever again. Twenty-three families had lost a child. And he had taken one of them away from the family who waited for her, who watched over her.

 _Melody_.

Thomas closed his eyes as the sky faded, tears falling unbidden. Newt looked up when one landed in his hair, his face troubled and then upset when he found the source. He drew nearer as Thomas cried, his own eyes gleaming with a wet sheen. He pressed close and comforted Thomas as the younger boy sat there, tears falling silently.

He knew, of course, why Thomas was crying. The same reasons his own eyes were wet. But he hadn't had to take a life yet. Thomas had. Thomas was the reason one of those girls had her face flickering in the sky, one of the Hovercraft claiming her body. He murmured as softly as he could into Thomas's jacket, not really paying attention to what he was saying, only that it was calming Thomas. The brunette gripped him tightly and Newt let him.

Eventually they both fell asleep, restless and unhappy, plagued by the nightmare of seeing their own faces in the night sky, each other's.

They weren't disturbed until the pink pre-dawn was warming the sky.

Newt heard them first.


	18. Chapter 18

At first Newt thought he was still asleep. He could hear voices, far away and blurred as though the words were just a stream of sound. He listened for a minute or two, his head lightening as he began to fill his body with his consciousness. It wasn't until he heard the word _Glader_ in a rough, huffy voice that he realised he was awake.

As he opened his eyes to the pre-sunrise light and blinked the world into focus he heard a commanding female voice answer. He listened hard as he tried to orient himself, but he could only catch every other word. He shifted gently to work his arm free, pressing his hand over Thomas's mouth as he began to stir.

Thomas was awake instantly, so quickly that it startled Newt. His frowning eyes met Newt's, a hazy confusion melting into awareness as the voices moved closer. Thomas turned his head so quickly he might have tumbled from the tree if it wasn't for the rope securing him to the branch. Through the canopy of leaves between them the Gladers caught sight of Minho, already out of his sleeping bag and perched in a crouch with one hand on the trunk.

He looked as though he'd been awake for ages, his pack on his back and a knife in his free hand. He must have caught their movements because he looked over, his face set in that unnerving blank expression. He tipped his head towards the direction of the voices, a question in his eyes. Thomas nodded, setting to work untangling his rope as quickly as he dared, careful not to jostle the blonde at his side.

"What're you _doing_?" Newt hissed as quietly as he could.

A cold fear appeared within him as he watched Thomas slip his rucksack over his shoulders, reaching gingerly for his quiver. Thomas didn't look at him, securing his quiver before reaching for his bow.

"Tommy?"

Thomas shook his head at Newt's fierce whisper, but he didn't say anything. An awful foreboding feeling settled on his skin like sand. Thomas was avoiding his eyes. He was planning something and Newt was afraid he might know what it was. He watched in fear as Thomas and Minho shared a long look, both of them nodding once, sharply. And then Minho swung his legs over his branch and dropped to the one below, steadying himself easily. Newt hadn't thought to ask which district their new friend was from, but he hadn't thought it'd be one where tree-climbing was a common skill.

His appreciation of Minho's climbing skills was cut short, however, when Thomas got himself into a crouch, tipping his head over the side to judge the best way to climb down. Newt reached out fearfully, his fingers finding Thomas's sleeve.

"What's going on?"

Nothing.

Thomas didn't even turn.

The fear swelled, pushing against his lungs and forcing the air from him.

"Tommy, what's happenin'?"

He tried to keep his voice as silent as possible, knowing approaching tributes would hear him as easily as they could hear them. But he couldn't help it. Even though he knew this was it, their time in the Arena was truly beginning, the thought of climbing down from the safety his tree provided and into the darkness made him feel ill. The thought of Thomas going without him was worse. He wriggled, fumbling for the zip to the sleeping bag, cursing his shaking fingers. Panic was bubbling in his stomach and making it hard to focus.

Thomas's hand closed over his, stilling his fingers as they were dragging the zip open, letting in the cold. Don't go, he wanted to say, don't leave me here alone. What his mouth hissed was

"It's bloody _freezing_!"

He looked up. Thomas was squeezing his hand, his eyes worried and fixed on Newt's face. He didn't say anything, he just looked at him for precisely three heartbeats and Newt could feel Thomas's thoughts just as surely as he could read them in his eyes. He shook his head. Thomas closed his eyes and swallowed hard before he looked at him again. Newt could feel his eyes pricking with the onset of tears.

" _No_." he whispered, knowing it wouldn't sway his friend.

Thomas smiled apologetically, glancing down towards the ground anxiously. Newt knew Thomas had to go now if he wanted the chance of getting to the forest floor before the voices became figures. He twisted his hand clumsily, squeezing Thomas's fingers back _hard_. Thomas looked at him one last time, his eyes deep and worried and yet somehow calm. Thomas had decided, and that gave him something to hold on to, no matter how panicky it made Newt.

"You better come back." he hissed out mournfully, his voice wavering. "I'll buggin' kill ya if you- if you don't."

He couldn't bear to say the word he was going to.

Thomas gave him his soft smirk, the one that Newt loved so badly. Before Newt knew what was happening Thomas had leaned forwards and pressed a hard kiss to Newt's temple before letting go of his hand and sweeping his legs over the side to the next branch, all in one movement. Newt leaned over the bough Thomas had vacated, his nails digging into the sharp bark as he watched the only real friend he'd ever had slipping from branch to branch like he had a hundred times before. His heart was clenched and compressed in his ribcage as though it were being crushed into a vacuum this time, though. And he felt like he was never going to see him again, even as he forbid himself to ever think it.

Why were they doing this? Why weren't they just staying in the treetops and avoiding the other tributes altogether? Why go down to meet them and risk so much when the faint light probably wouldn't be enough to betray their perches anyway? Newt would drive himself mad with worry, he just _knew_ he would. Thomas was going to be going off and being as ridiculous as Newt had known he would, and he'd left Newt behind.

He had to busy himself, unwrapping his rope and twisted this way and that to get out of the thin sleeping bag, trying not to notice the cold. Thomas must have been freezing last night and yet he'd let Newt have the sleeping bag with its weird warm technology. He rolled it up carefully and then shoved it into his small pack, an insufficient release of his frustration. Damn that Thomas for leaving him here like he was useless. He could help, if they were going to fight he'd be willing to fight too.

Thomas and Minho were on the forest floor by the time he was packed up, crouching together by one of the thick trunks, their heads close together. Newt tried to breathe as he moved to a branch that gave him a better view of Thomas. The voices were pronounced now, he could hear words, as chillingly clear as though they were right there with them.

_Shucking trees, messing with the sound._

Newt had to keep himself calm, focus incase he had to act quickly. The Hunger Games had officially begun, the Midnight point passed. In a sudden and fleeting rush of triumph, Newt found a small smile on his lips. They'd done it. They'd survived the night, practically all the way till morning.

Gladers had survived a night in the Arena, two of them, possibly all four.

 _Take that, Snow_. he thought, bitterly.

His heart was pounding as he listened to the voices, his gut chilling when he heard what they were saying. He felt like he'd had a limb removed, the loss of _his Tommy_ from his side jarring and unusually terrifying. He wasn't that far away. Newt could see him, had his gaze locked on him even though Thomas never looked up at him. He'd watched Thomas climb down a tree a hundred times before, more than that. It wasn't anything new.

Well.

Newt held his breath as he saw the first shadow move.

Death hadn't always been waiting at the bottom of the tree.


	19. Chapter 19

Thomas had to force himself not to look up.

Looking at Newt would make him doubt and doubt might get him killed. It had been an easy choice. A decision he'd made long before they'd even entered the Arena. If they got cornered Newt he'd leave Newt somewhere safe and meet whatever it was head on,distract them, whatever he needed to do to protect the blonde.

Minho's head turned at the same time he looked over at a small movement. He had his bow ready, and arrow between his fingertips. The sharp pricking of the feathered shaft grounded him a little. The voices were loud enough to hear.

"… believe we haven't found them. Shucking Gladers should dead by now." The rough, angry voice.

"We'll find them. We have two hours to." The commanding female.

"Two hours till they label us failures. Gladers never make it, they better not this time." A third voice, husky, with an undertone that made Thomas nervous. His brain was trying to find faces that matched but nothing came to mind.

And then they were there and he didn't have to try.

The broad-shouldered both with the sharp eyebrows was in front. _Satan_ , they'd labelled him. Such a thing seemed so childish now, so meaningless. Behind him were two other boys, the one with the dark skin and the scowl they'd called _Forehead_ and a tall, brown-haired boy with olive skin. The girl was _Red_ , the lean tribute from the Training Days who had ignored the the kid. She had a wickedly sharp knife in her hand.

Forehead had a bow, strung and docked with an arrow already and Thomas cursed inwardly. He'd have to take him out before the boy saw Newt, or he'd be a sitting duck. In a tree. He adjusted his grip on his own bow. The intruders couldn't see himself and Minho yet, crouching as they were in the deep shadow of the biggest tree they could find, but they would soon.

Thomas could feel Minho shifting ever so slightly, his peripheral vision alerting him to the fact that Minho had a knife in each hand. Satan had a spear in one hand and a long-bladed knife in the other, and he looked like he could really use them. He was huge, draped in the shadows of trunks and canopy alike, his face a venomous scowl to rival that of his companion. Thomas couldn't decide which was the deadliest of the our and it made him nervous even as he tried to think logically.

_These are people._

_These are kids, just like us._

_They want to go home too._

They also wanted Newt and himself dead.

Thomas steeled himself, swallowing the sick feeling rising in his throat. He took a shallow breath, held it and released it and then did it again. Minho caught his eye, indicating the boy to the left, the tall one with the brown hair. The boy had a knife on his felt loop and a spear in his hand. Thomas nodded, and then he jerked his chin towards the boy with the bow. Minho nodded to show he understood.

They each took a breath as they rose to their feet.

Surprise quietly morphed into something far more sinister as the group reacted with angry cries. With a horrifyingly subtle flick of his wrist Minho sent a blade pinwheeling through the air, striking the tall boy square in the base of his throat.

Thomas's mind was racing and he was too focused to see the way blood gushed even as the boy fell, and Minho was already over the bush they'd been behind, spinning another knife through the air and gouging Satan's upper arm as it passed.

Thomas's arrow hit the dark-skinned boy in the chest, sending him screaming backwards, his own arrow streaking harmlessly through the trees as he twisted and fell. Heart jackhammering, Thomas tried not to think about what he'd done as he docked another arrow and loosed it into the red pool that was rapidly spreading on the boy's shirt.

He stopped screaming.

With the briefest glance he could manage to make sure the boy wasn't getting up he tugged another arrow from his quiver, turning his bow toward the two standing tributes. A blade whistled past his ear, thunking hard into a trunk behind him.

The boy called Satan growled furiously as he ran at Thomas, knocking the wind from him as his head bounced off a badly-placed tree root. Blood was dripping down the thick, muscled arm, droplets splashing on Thomas's cheek as he struggled. His bow was out of reach and he scrabbled for his knife, reaching it just as the tribute punched him square in the chest, sending the knife flying and making him retch. The blow burned like fire ants on his skin, his chest stunned and his lungs disoriented.

Thomas couldn't get a breath in. His mouth was moving but his body seemed to be forgetting how to draw air in. He struggled, panic clawing his throat as he pitched to one side just as the boy was thrown off of him. Thomas flew to his feet, staggering into a tree trunk as his lungs finally remembered their function.

He dragged in a heavy breath, opening his eyes against the spinning world to see what was happening. Minho and the boy were struggling for a knife, shoving each other as they twisted viciously. His eyes wouldn't cooperate and he felt woozy but he tried to shake it off, focus.

_Think logically._

_The bow._

_Where's the bow?_

_There_.

Red was already turning, and in a matter of second she'd skipped between the trees and out of sight, her crashing easy and inviting. Thomas didn't stop to think. He scooped the bow up, dragged his arrows from the boy's chest. He didn't look at him, swallowing his racing heart as he wiped the arrowhead clumsily on his trousers.

He knew he should feel disgusted, remorseful, and he was certain he would later when he had a chance to breathe. For now that part of his brain was fenced off.

 _Red knew where they were_.

If her little group had other members waiting at a camp or somewhere nearby it put Newt in danger. It put them all in danger.

He didn't think.

He _ran_.


	20. Chapter 20

"Come on, shuck face, just _stop_!"

Thomas finally heeded the calls from the boy behind him, slowing his pace reluctantly. His lungs very desperate for air and his pulse was still sky-high, adrenaline pumping from their fight.

"You must be jacked in the head." Minho gasped when they finally stopped, leaning over to put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Thomas reached out to the tree beside him for support, gulping in the cool air. He didn't answer the asian boy's remark, partly because he knew it was probably accurate enough. He looked around them, trying to get his bearings. How far were they from Newt's tree? Thomas felt sick and uneasy being so far away from the blonde. He could only hope the Careers hadn't noticed his friend, and that Newt had stayed put.

"D'you think we've lost them?" he asked instead.

Minho straightened, looking around them with his head to one side. They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing silently and straining to listen. Thomas grew more and more anxious with every passing second, desperate to get back and make sure Newt was okay.

"I think we're good." Minho replied eventually, breaking the tense silence. He looked at Thomas with his strange blue eyes. "Why'd you do that?"

Thomas shrugged under his scrutiny, pretending to adjust his pack. Minho simply waited for an answer.

"Reckless behaviour from a shank who claimed he just wants to get by. You played bait."

Minho's comment was curious, with a knowing undertone that made Thomas feel uncomfortable. He started off in the direction of the tree where he'd left Newt, eager to be back. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that the asian boy was following him. They crept through the trees in silence for a while before Thomas spoke.

"He's my friend."

He was listening as he walked, his ears straining between each step and hearing nothing besides muted animal sounds and their own noises.

"Dangerous to have friends out here." Minho commented.

"Yeah, well." Thomas replied absently, halting at the soft sound of a shuffle up ahead. "You and i seem to be doing okay."

Minho chuckled breathily, halting right beside Thomas as they listened to the sound for several minutes before deciding it was just a bird. Minho replied when they started moving again.

"Good that. But if i really wanted to, i could've slit your throat several times over already."

Thomas resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the other boy, swallowing the uneasy feeling. It was true, and yet so far they'd done okay. He upped his speed, going as fast as he dared over the uneven brush.

"I could've killed you the first night, bow or not." he muttered back.

Minho simply chuckled.

"And yet instead you made a show out of defending that blonde of yours and gave me food and now i'm following you around like a slint-headed shank because of a shucking debt."

Thomas shot him a surprised look.

"What debt? You don't owe us anything."

Minho snorted.

"I owe you well enough. You two probably saved my shuck ass."

Thomas shook his head earnestly, looking back at Minho again.

"No, you don't owe-"

A piercing scream cut him off and the two boys froze in surprise, fear of the noise coursing through them. It left the air electrified, their ears buzzing. A second scream cut through the air and Thomas's stomach turned cold. The cry was pained and terrified, and unbearably young.


	21. Chapter 21

" _Chuck_ …" he whispered without thinking, guilt and fear mingling coldly in his stomach.

A hand appeared on his shoulder, but he didn't even move, rooted to the spot by the awful cry. And then it got worse. The scream pitched, and instead of the horrible pained scream words formed.

" _Noooooooooooooo_ …"

Thomas closed his eyes as grief rose like suffocating waters, weighing him into the ground. Chuck was crying, screaming through the air and Thomas didn't know he was crying until he felt the dampness seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

" _Thomaaaasss! Help meeeee!_ "

Minho's hand gripped him hard when he moved without thinking, and the asian boy moved closer, whispering harshly in his ear when Thomas began to struggle.

"Jabber-Jays, shank! They're Jabber-Jays! Whoever you're hearing isn't in the Arena, how could he be? It's not him! It's a Jabber-Jay Thomas!"

Thomas sobbed, covering his eyes with his hands and pressing so hard that black and blue spots appeared behind his eyes.

It wasn't Chuck.

Chuck was _dead_.

It wasn't Chuck.

There was no possible way for the dead boy to be screaming. They were using Jabber-Jays.

It was a _Jabber-Jay_.

He gasped around the grief and loss that choked him, his shoulders shaking. He felt sick and guilty at the thought that Chuck could have screamed like that. He had given them the knowledge that Chuck was important to him. He had blurted it out to Flickerman and the Game Makers had _used_ the little boy against him in the cruelest way. He hoped Mary wasn't watching. He hoped she hadn't had to hear her son scream again. He looked up at the air through the tears, knowing they'd be filming him then, broadcasting the way he'd reacted, showing they had tried to break him and it had worked.

"I'm sorry, Mary." he said out loud, keeping his face turned towards the sky. "I'm sorry. I should have Volunteered for him, he should have been safe at home with you. He was only a _kid_."

He hiccuped down another sob. He was glad he was with Minho instead of Newt right then. He didn't want the blonde to see him like this, to know the Arena had gotten to him so. He needed to be strong, to get Newt through this. Eventually Chuck's screaming stopped, as suddenly as it began and Thomas could breathe again as though a constricting bind had been lifted from his lungs.

He was just getting himself back under control when the screaming voice was replaced by another, a sound even more awful because it sounded like a much younger child. She cried out around sobs and even though he didn't have a clue who she was Thomas felt his heart breaking.

"Nooo! No, _please_! Don't- _Aaaarrrrghhhh!_ "

They were startled when a voice replied from what could be only a few hundred metres to their right, a young voice that Thomas didn't recognise.

"Rachel? _Rachel_!"

Suddenly Thomas could hear the crashing of someone running their way, and Minho had jumped back, drawing a knife with each hand as Thomas unshouldered his bow and grabbed an arrow. The figure crashed through the trees behind them, both boys whipping around when he appeared. But he didn't seem to see them, bolting across their path like a startled deer. Thomas recognised him as the slight, dark-haired kid from the Training Days. The combination of the thudding of the boy's run and the girl's screaming was making so much noise in the otherwise quiet Arena that Thomas had to fight the urge to cover his ears.

He looked to Minho, an anxious urge to _do_ something crawling under his skin as he listened to the tortured screaming of the little girl. The kid was shouting after her. Minho looked back at him and shook his head, lowering his knives and relaxing out of the defensive stance he'd been in.

"No way. Shank's going to attract the Careers, probably the others. It'll be another BloodBath."

Thomas felt torn. He knew Minho was right, but the thought of such harmless-looking thing running right into the Careers was sickening. What if it was _Newt_?

 _What if it had been Newt in the Arena on his own, chasing the screams_?

He wasn't thinking.

Thomas knew what the boy was feeling, had he not just felt it himself? The kid looked fourteen at most. He was as small as Chuck had been last year. It felt _wrong_ to just let him run towards the vicious tributes. The screaming had frayed his nerves, he could feel the tremble in his hand. Minho shook his head fiercely as though he could see what Thomas was thinking.

"Thomas, _no_!"

Thomas was off.

"Get back to Newt- keep him _safe_!" he threw over his shoulder as his feet leapt into the underbrush.

He could hear Minho's hissed shouts but he wasn't really thinking properly as he followed the smaller boy's path. The screams were playing havoc with his senses. His ears felt raw, even his eyes were sore. Everything was too bright, too vivid. He forced himself to focus on the path, on breathing in and out and putting one foot in front of the kid had made no efforts of stealth, broken branches and crushed undergrowth leading Thomas right to him.


	22. Chapter 22

When he heard the wailing voice he stopped, so suddenly that he had to catch himself on a tree trunk, scraping his hand painfully. He didn't bother to look down, gasping in air and swallowing to wet his parched throat, the stinging in his hands merely irritating.

He crept forward, his head beginning to pound as the screaming grew louder. The kid was in a clearing up ahead, wandering from tree to tree with a frantic, glazed expression on his face. He was sobbing, stumbling as he tried to find the source of the screaming, his small face pale and flushed. Thomas paused at the edge of the clearing, unsure what he really planned to do.

And then the screaming stopped.

Thomas took a breath of jarring, empty air as his head loosened in relief. He hadn't noticed the clenching in his abdomen until it stopped, his body tired from the edgy, irritating feeling.

"Rachel where _are_ you, answer me!" the boy howled, falling against a tree trunk as he heaved a broken sob.

"You don't believe that was actually _her_ do you?"

The silky, dark voice frightened Thomas with its proximity. The girl stepped from behind a tree barely five feet from his right side and he hadn't even _heard_ her coming, never mind seen her. His blood chilled, an arrow ready against the string as he watched her pace towards the boy like a prowling tiger. Her hair danced like fire in the rising sunlight, and despite the fierce, predatory smirk on her lips and the dangerous glint her her stark blue eyes Thomas was struck by the fact that he found her _pretty_.

It didn't last. The boy jerked, stumbling backwards and almost falling.

"W-What?"

The girl rolled her eyes at him, pacing past him, turning. Her smirk was almost playful, with a sharp edge glinting underneath.

"She's not here, stupid. They don't actually bring people in here. It's a Jabber-Jay. It mimics her though." she shot him a hungry look. "What she _sounds_ like when she's screaming for you to help her."

All of a sudden there was a knife in her hands and she was toying with the blade, a single fingertip trailing up the flat surface as though caressing it. Thomas fought a shudder. He'd thought Minho's knife play made him uneasy. This was something completely different. It was almost like she was goading the knife to cut her. He felt sick. She was enjoying herself.

The kid's eyes flickered between the blade and her eyes, his face clearly confused. She prowled towards him and he backtracked hurriedly, his empty hands up as though to make her stop. Every trace of playfulness was gone from her eyes as she bared her teeth in a frightening grin. It was like seeing a lion smile at an antelope before it pounced.

"Ava? What are you- No wait, _please-"_

Without thinking, Thomas loosed the arrow.

The girl was thrown backwards with a gurgled scream, her head striking the tree trunk behind her. Her eyes were wide and already emptying of life, her fingers spasming in the mossy forest floor as her chest heaved. Her voice was gone already, his face paling drastically. Blood gushed down her shoulder in regular, gory waves from where Thomas's arrow had pierced her neck, the tip pushing through the skin on the other side.

It splashed on her hands, a red so vivid it seemed the colour couldn't even be real. It darkened her hair, beaded on her black jumpsuit like round red pearls. Thomas stared, feeling horrified and sick and yet unable to look away, wondering how it could be that one side of her neck bled so heavily and the other barely trickled.

The young boy had jumped so suddenly when Thomas had fired that he had tripped over his feet and scrabbled back a foot or so in the tangle of twigs and leaves. He was looking up at Thomas with wide, terrified eyes. Thomas tore his eyes from the dying girl to look at him, the vivid green of the boy's irises so alive and frightened that he was lost for a moment. He was just a kid, a tiny thing so much smaller close up than he had looked in the Gymnasium on the Training Days. Thomas simply stared at him as he scrambled to his feet, never blinking, his green eyes locked on Thomas and his mouth open as though frozen that way. There were oval droplets of red streaking across his cheek.

Thomas had no idea what he was going to do.

There was a new arrow slotted against the string of his bow already, had been there almost in the same second the arrow had flown towards the red-haired girl. All he had to do was lift it up, let go. The boy would die just like her, like- like _Ava_. That's what the boy had called her, the dead girl.

 _Ava_.

He had killed her, just like he had killed the girl at the treeline, the boy by their tree.

They both had names, didn't they? The only difference was that he hadn't known the name of the first girl he had killed when he had killed her. He didn't know Forehead's real name, wouldn't until Midnight. Learning hours after the fact was different.

But this one was called _Ava_. He knew her name as he watched her die.

She'd had a family waiting for her to come back. A district who were probably rooting for her. He'd put an arrow through her neck, drained her body of blood and her eyes of life.

And she had been named _Ava_.

Thomas was being sick before he had time to prepare. He emptied his stomach onto the forest floor, splashing the toes of his boots. His knees trembled and for one awful moment he thought he was going to pass out. He wiped his mouth as he spat out the sour taste, looking up and expecting to see the boy long gone, bolting while he had the chance.

But still he stood there, his wide eyes focused on Thomas. He had closed his mouth, his expression a little less blindly terrified, but otherwise hadn't moved. He was panting silently, his small chest heaving. Thomas took a breath of his own, cool air that soothed the raw in his throat. A heartbeat went by. Two.

The kid tipped his head every so slightly to one side as he stared and the last of Thomas's willpower drained away. Newt did the same thing when he was listening to Thomas speak, when he was curious to hear what Thomas had to say.

 _Newt_.

He had to get back to him.

A dreadful feeling filled him then. He had run off without thought, chasing after a kid. He'd sent Minho back to Newt by himself.

What if Minho-

There was a crashing sound, sudden and close and the boy's head jerked up at the same time Thomas's did. The sound of voices was unmistakeable. Thomas's blood chilled. He could hear three, maybe four voices.

He couldn't stay.

He'd have to bolt back around, the way Minho and he had raced, he'd have to make sure they couldn't follow him before he went anywhere near Newt's tree. His legs were screaming from the running he'd done already and his throat was dry but he ignored them as best he could.

He had to go _now_.

He shouldered the bow in a single movement, drawing his knife.

He couldn't help it.

He glanced at the tiny tribute, knowing what he was doing was stupid and yet unable to stop himself. He didn't have the heart - or the lack of conscience - to kill a kid. That was something Thomas wouldn't compromise, something the GameMakers could never force him to unless it was absolutely the only thing he could do to keep Newt safe. The boy met his eyes and Thomas made what would probably turn out to be one of many stupid decisions he'd make in the Arena.

He lunged forward, throwing his hand around the boy's small shoulder and pulling him, thrusting him in the direction they had both come from, his grip dragging him up as he stumbled, the approaching voices louder and closer every heartbeat.

"We gotta go."

Without waiting for a reply he turned into the trees and ran.


	23. Chapter 23

Thomas didn't manage to run all the way. His legs were cramping in painful spasms and every breath leeched moisture from his throat. His run faded to a jog and then to a walk as he tried to quench his thirst by drinking as little as he could. The water bottle was half-empty already, and he hadn't left any with Newt. He felt guilty with every mouthful.

He'd have to go looking for water. Once he found Newt, of course. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was growing with every minute he was separated from his friend and it was agony to be walking when he still had so far to go. The quiet footsteps behind him told him the kid had followed him, but he hadn't looked back once. He had to work out what he was going to do. He had no idea why he'd chased after the boy, why he'd killed his district-mate or dragged him off.

Well he did. The Kid was just a kid, and he had no pack, no visible weapons, no allies that Thomas knew of. He'd seemed genuinely betrayed when Red- _Ava_ \- had turned on him. He didn't belong in the Arena any more than Newt did and yet here he was, just a kid amongst a load of other kids fighting to survive in a giant pen made by Capitol freaks for _entertainment_. Watching children die was apparently their idea of fun but they balked at the thought of a cracked nail or lack of dinner options.

It made him mad, a low fury that had burned in Thomas's lower stomach for the last year, maybe longer before he truly recognised it. It burned now, as he traipsed through trees worried about his best friend's safety and trailing a wide-eyed kid behind him. There was a scream from far across the other side of the Arena and Thomas didn't even pause. He couldn't afford to. If Newt was alone with Minho and the asian boy decided he'd had enough of playing nice then there was a very large chance that his friend was in danger.

He couldn't shake the uncomfortable doubt and so he forced himself into a jog again, ignoring the cramping muscles and forcing them to move through sheer will. He had to get back to Newt.

He knew something was wrong when the slope came into view. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. Something was wrong in the air and he slowed, stopping to listen carefully. Someone was moving around, cracking twigs and crunching moss. It was quiet, but it was there. He slipped the bow from his shoulder, reaching back carefully for an arrow. He didn't look to see if the kid was there, but if he was he'd gotten the message, because Thomas couldn't even hear him breathing.

He peered around the tree in front of him, his eyes sweeping the disappearing shadows before he crept slowly to the next tree and repeated the process. It took an uncomfortably long time, during which his anxiety over Newt simply grew and needled at him. His skin was prickling in frustration because he wanted to scream, shout out for the blonde. Retraining himself was becoming more and more difficult and to make matters worse his gut was awake and he could feel the tell-tale signals of oncoming rumbles.

He found the tree he'd left Newt in, fear dousing him in icy waves when he peered up into the branches and failed to see him. He swung his head in both directions, unsure which way to go. Did he go left toward the sound of the tribute or right towards what must be close to the outer edge of the Arena?

His stomach grumbled then, and he felt a flush of irritation as he froze. If anyone was listening they were sure to have heard it. A similar sound appeared behind him and he snapped his head round, finding the kid right behind him and looking sheepish. He was trembling and he mouthed a silent apology with pleading eyes. Thomas couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed. The kid looked like he wanted to cry.

He turned back round and decided. Towards the noise it was.

They went tree by tree, pausing to listen every other step or so. It felt like days had passed before they reached a denser corpse of trees, and winding between them made being quiet so much harder. Thomas was checking every tree, straining to see through the canopies without any success. The kid followed behind, so close that at one point Thomas could feel his breaths on the back of his neck.

His thighs were begging him to straighten up. If he wasn't careful he'd spend the next day unable to do much else than lie and mope about the pain of strained muscles, and in the Arena that was a luxury he didn't have. Eventually, just as Thomas was squeezing between two thick tree trunks and trying to avoid a sharp-thorned bush, it seemed that the kid had overcome his fear of Thomas because he spoke in an uncertain whisper.

"What are we looking for?"

Thomas turned to shush him, to tell him that noise was a bad idea, to tell him that they were looking for Newt and he needed to _shut up_ so that Thomas could hear.

He didn't get the chance once the blade was pressed against his neck.


	24. Chapter 24

He'd never stood so still in his life as he did in that heartbeat, his very pulse seeming to draw back from the keen edge that was pressing against it. He didn't even dare to breathe.

He couldn't believe this was how it was to end, barely a day into the Games and he was to die because he'd turned around to tell the kid to be quiet.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't even know if Newt was safe. How would the blonde fare without him?

He'd failed him.

He'd let him down.

And without ever telling him that-

"Told you it was a bad idea to chase that shank." muttered an amused voice.

Thomas's knees gave out in relief, weakened by the hours and hours of running. The blade jumped out of the way just in time, saving him from a severed artery. He closed his eyes as he dragged in a huge breath, an unstable giggle leaving his throat. It grew into a proper laugh, and his head fell back against rough bark.

Minho was looking down at him with a wry expression twisting his mouth, and his eyes were amused. Thomas's laughter faded. He threw a hand out to Minho as he steadied himself against the tree trunk.

"Give me a hand, i'm totally shucked from running around like a crank."

He was answered by an exasperated rolling of dark blue eyes and a sharp yank on his collar. The boy had him on his feet before he could push off to help, and Thomas almost stumbled under the power of Minho's tug. He shot him a surprised look.

"Jeez, if it wasn't obvious before that you work with stone it sure is now."

He dusted himself off, shifting his weight as the sole of one foot started to burn. He needed to sit down, drink some water, eat. He looked behind Minho, his anxiety returning full force. He almost couldn't get the words out as he met the asian boy's gaze.

"Where is he?" he whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

Minho looked uneasy for the first time. It didn't do anything to ease the painful worry. The boy shook his head, rubbing a hand through his hair and pushing it back across his head.

"I don't know. I came right here and he wasn't in the tree. I've checked nearly every one between there and here and nothing. I-"

" _Newt!_ "

Thomas hadn't meant to shout. He hadn't meant to say anything. But his heart was racing so fast he might pass out and his empty stomach was heaving. He pushed past Minho and looked up into the trees, all thoughts of being quiet obliterated.

_What if someone came by while they were away?_

_What if he hadn't been here to keep Newt safe because he was off chasing some shuck kid?_

_What if he never-_

" _Newt!_

He was hyperventilating. He could feel it squeezing in his chest as he rushed across a clearing, pushing through trees. He didn't know where he was going, only that Newt _had_ to be around here somewhere.

" _Newt? Answer me_ goddammit! Where the shuck-"

The cry was quiet, but Thomas heard it. He stopped so fast he tumbled forwards, thrashing against the tangle of thorny bushes and ivy as he threw himself to his feet. It came again, back the way he'd come from and he launched himself forward, the cramps in his legs forgotten, the worry in his stomach turning to anticipation like ice to water.

He tripped over a bush and tugged his trainer free, a line of stinging down his shin from a thorn. He put the foot back down and when he lifted his head there he was.

Newt stepped out from behind a tree trunk with bright eyes and a relieved smile, his pack on his shoulders and leaves in his nest of tousled hair and Thomas had never truly known what it felt like to love until _right then_.

Newt opened his mouth to speak but whatever it was Thomas never found out because he had thrown himself at him, his hands finding the nape of his neck, his waist. Newt let out a startled peep as Thomas dragged him forward, and he barely even noticed they'd tumbled to the forest floor because his lips had found Newt's and nothing else mattered.

He kissed him _hard_ , saying everything his words couldn't cover. His fingers clenched in curls and Thomas was pulling him closer, pushing the worry, the fear into the kiss. Newt kissed him back and it was clumsy and uncoordinated and he couldn't breathe and he _didn't care_ because Newt was _kissing him back_ and he was _safe_.

It ended far too soon and Thomas blinked into the light that seemed so much brighter now that his sunshine was back. He was lying in a mess of moss and fallen leaves, tree roots digging into his neck and his head at an awkward angle against the trees. Newt had been pulled down with him, of course, and he was sprawled across him, both of them breathing like they'd just swam across the sea.

Newt's face was flushed, his eyes amber in the soft light and his hair glinting like spun gold and he was smiling a bemused sort of smile that summed up pretty much how Thomas was feeling. There was a glow about him that was intoxicating, a playful happiness in the way his lips curved that made Thomas's heart stutter and skip.

"You found him then."

Their head snapped up as one to see Minho leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed and an oddly teasing smirk upon his face. He raised his eyebrows suggestively and Thomas felt his whole body heat in embarrassment. As Newt scrambled off of him and helped him up Thomas saw the kid standing just behind Minho, safe and well. He felt a twinge of guilt for not thinking about the boy's safety when he'd run off and left him. Just because Minho wasn't slitting his throat or Newt's didn't mean he would stop at anyone else.

The Gladers busied themselves with brushing off their clothing, avoiding each other's eyes as they came back down to earth. Newt cleared his throat and Thomas swallowed, straightening his pack and shouldering his bow. There was an awkward, tense silence before Minho spoke again.

"Well, if you're quite finished i suggest we head off in search of water before every other shuck-face has the same idea."

They both murmured, eager to get past the moment. Minho rolled his eyes and didn't say anything, but the sarcastic comment was scribbled all over his face. He set off and Newt scampered forward to follow, leaving Thomas to jerk his head at their little band's newest - and quietest - member. The mention of water made the haziness of Newt fade, and Thomas found his focus again.

Water.

Water was the next task.

Find water. And food. He followed the sight of Newt's blonde head disappearing between the trunks.

"Cummon kid."


	25. Chapter 25

He fell into step beside Thomas obediently, and Thomas wondered about him. He felt guilty that he'd never asked his name. He was just _the Kid_ in his head. The slight tribute had no pack, no weapons, no food or water or equipment.

_How on earth had he survived this long?_

When he asked him the kid shrugged gently, looking up at him with a shy sort of smile.

"Luck, i guess. People don't pay attention if they don't think you're dangerous enough. Lots of hiding and uhm, being rescued."

His cheeks went a little pink and he looked down at his feet as though unsure whether he'd spoken out of turn. It made Thomas's stomach lurch. He looked like such a little kid, being told off. Thomas resolved to be careful with him.

"My name's Thomas, by the way. The sarcastic shank is Minho and the uhh- the blonde is Newt. What about you?"

The kid shuffled his feet as he walked, before nervously answering.

"Aris. I'm from the Tech-Science district." he whispered. His face changed, a fragile sadness seeping into his expression. "The last one left now, i guess."

The moment was uncomfortable between them, guilt resurfacing in Thomas as he thought about the red-haired girl he had just killed. He knew she was going to kill the kid, and himself too if she'd had the chance. And he'd have had to anyway, to stop her coming back for Newt.

But knowing didn't make it sting any less. He looked away from Aris, fixing his gaze on Newt's back.

"Sorry." Thomas muttered, knowing it wasn't enough.

The kid shrugged, his face a confused mask before he seemed to force it into neutral. Thomas felt another pang that such a young boy was in a place where he had to do that. He was so small, so young. He looked nothing like Chuck physically and yet every time Thomas looked at him he couldn't help but see the bright, boisterous Glader in him. The GameMakers had no right to do this to kids, to ones like Aris, like Chuck, who should be safe at home still being tucked in and learning how to talk to adults, clinging to what childhood the districts could afford to allow them and cherishing it.

Fucking _Snow_.

"You're a Glader, right? I saw your interview, and the blonde guy's too. I thought you guys were dead brave, you know."

He'd blushed, his cheeks a wine colour and his eyes fixed on his feet. Thomas felt uncomfortable too, with the reminder and the compliment both.

"Uhh, thanks."

Aris nodded, glancing up shyly from under his lashes. Thomas gave him a smile and the kid smiled back, chuckling nervously. They fell into silence as they followed Minho through the woods.

It was almost lunchtime by the time they'd found the weirdly blue lake. They'd stopped once or twice to hide, holding their breath in what shadows they could find as unknown noises faded away. By the time they were at the treelike next to the water the Arena was as warm as it had been when they'd arrived, and heating steadily.

Thomas had taken his jacket off, the t-shirt underneath sticking vaguely to his skin. It was an annoying heat, the kind that wasn't halted by the cool green of the canopy. It buzzed under his skin, fuelling his hunger and making him feel short-tempered.

He stepped up between Minho and Newt to peer through the remaining leaves. Newt's arm brushed against him and shot a tingle across his skin. He chanced a glance at him, and even though Newt was looking out across the water Thomas could tell he was aware of his eyes on him.

Newt's pale skin was ruddy with the warmth of the air and the curls that kissed his neck were damp with sweat. He'd unzipped his jumper but hadn't taken it off, and the collar was askew, giving Thomas a view of the pale expanse of his neck and the very start of his shoulder. His t-shirt was damp and sticking, a darker ring on the fabric of the collar. His hair was mussed and twisted in all directions, and there was a streak of green near his ear and in the blonde there, like he'd run moss-covered hand through his hair.

Thomas knew it was wrong to think so, out here and surrounded by danger, but he'd never seen Newt more beautiful, not even when he'd been drenched in the caress of green by the Capitol. There was something about Newt that simply screamed _comfortable in his own skin_ and Thomas found it heady and irresistible. He was flushed from heat, sweating and dressed in the bland tribute garb the Capitol had designed this year and yet…

Thomas swallowed. There was the faint beginning of a smile creeping across Newt's lips. He knew Thomas was looking at him just as surely as Thomas knew he knew. He tucked his fingers into Newt's hand as he turned to focus on the water. He didn't miss the way the smile bloomed into existence on Newt's face.

There was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to keep this boy safe.


	26. Chapter 26

Newt puffed out yet another breath, blowing air up at his fringe. It was, yet again, a wasted effort. He couldn't help the huff of frustration as he dropped the twig in his hand and scraped his nails across his forehead, pushing his sweat-damp hair to the side, to the back he didn't care. It was infuriating, whispering over his forehead and his eyelids, birthing an itch that was driving him crazy. Sweat was rolling in slow droplets down his back and even the _moss_ was irritating him. The Arena hadn't been anywhere near as hot yesterday, the air was clammy and almost a physical feeling on their skin and it was irking everybody.

He dug his nails unnecessarily into the dirt as he grabbed his twig back. It was something to busy his hands now that the fire was ready, and he was reluctant to admit even to himself that carefully and thoroughly stripping the bark from the soft wood below was possibly the only thing keeping him remotely under control.

They'd made it to the water, Minho and Thomas scouting the treeline all the way round and back, an overly careful check that had taken half an hour at least, while he and Aris stayed in one place and the temperature continued to climb. It had finally seemed to peak at around noon, marking a whole day in the Arena and getting on everybody's nerves. When they had finally deemed the water safe to approach Newt had been further put out to be instructed to stay hidden with the new kid like he was incapable of anything.

Thomas hadn't phrased it quite like that, of course. He had made out that he needed Newt to stick with Aris incase someone came along, keep the kid safe.

But Newt could read the truth in his eyes, even though he didn't let on that he could. Thomas probably knew he knew anyway. They'd lived in each others heads for years, poked around in so many years of friendship that they probably knew each other's thoughts better than they knew their own. It hadn't helped any though, but he had stayed. Stood in the trees with the silent Aris and fumed half-heartedly.

He knew Thomas's game, of course he did. The ridiculous brunette thought he was being subtle by not coming right out and saying it but Newt knew. It made him feel uneasy and special at the same time and it was a feeling that was hard to pin down, to get a proper hold on. It made him truly afraid to think what Thomas would do, what he'd already done, just to keep him safe. It infuriated him so much he wanted to tell him just how idiotic he was being, and it made him want to punch him. Hard. On the nose. And then kiss him senseless.

In that order.

The thought of kissing Thomas made him even warmer and he squirmed where he sat, deliberately scrubbing his back again the trunk because he was just too close to losing his temper over something so simple as _heat_.

And he knew what they were doing, the GameMakers. They were playing with the temperature, winter cold at night then far too hot during the day to make them stumble, make them angry. Make them make rash decisions and hunt each other out, turn them against each other even more.

But knowing didn't help, did it?

Not in the slightest.

Still. Despite the added burn in his face, the thought of kissing Thomas was a welcome one. He had always wanted to. He couldn't remember when he had first realised what the wanting was, when he had realised that the feeling flitting through him was because of Thomas being _everything he wanted_. And for years he had thought it would never happen.

He knew he had definitely known on his first Reaping day, when he had stood inside the roped off corral with every other twelve year old boy in his district and tried to kid himself that if he was Reaped and he came back a Victor then Thomas wouldn't be able to say no. There were two years, just, between them but Thomas had never been a little kid to Newt, not even then. Even when the other boys his age mocked him for his friendship with the younger boy.

Not that giving up Thomas's company would have gained him anything more than the loss of the best friend he would ever have. He'd never considered it, not once. Thomas wasn't like any other kid they were growing up with. He was different in so many ways, many of which Newt had never been able to define. Not that he ever stopped trying anyway. He'd never viewed him as someone who wasn't as good as him, the way older children often do with younger ones.

When he'd been led to that corral for the first time Thomas had broken away from Mary's hold on him to run across the courtyard. He had barrelled into Newt as a solid force and gripped him tightly around the waist in a fierce hug. Newt had been a good head taller than Thomas at that point but it hadn't mattered. Thomas had looked up at him as Mary appeared to haul him away, and his brown eyes had been as fierce as his hug.

"Don't get picked." he had said before letting Mary take him off, twisting his head to look at him as he followed her, her scolding washing over his head.

Newt had watched him go and although he had always been afraid of the Games he had been more frightened in that moment than ever before. He had crossed his fingers and wished hard, harder possibly than some of the others, that his name wouldn't be called. Because he hadn't told Thomas what he felt. He had to last in the Glade until Thomas was old enough to understand what those feelings truly were, what love really meant.

And he hadn't been chosen.

For six years he hadn't been chosen, each time telling himself that if he didn't then it would be a sign that he should finally explain those feelings to Thomas. He was more than old enough, and Newt knew what he felt. But when Thomas was finally old enough, when he stepped into that corral for the first time Newt had felt a fear he didn't remember ever feeling. It wasn't just physical, it had been soul deep, veined right down to his very core. That the GameMakers could take him away from Newt was out of the question and so that day he had decided. Should that ratty-looking man on the stage ever pull Thomas Green's name from that stupid glass bowl on that irritating little table he would step forward.

Fourteen years old and he had decided what his life was worth.

To tell him after that, knowing that he now had twice the odds of stepping into an Arena… It stopped on his tongue every time. They spent every day together, every spare moment. He'd never felt closer to anyone, not even Sonya. When his parents had died he had run from her to Thomas, somehow knowing that he was the only thing that would even put a dent in the grief that was consuming him.

He'd wanted Thomas with every fibre for years and had never had the guts to act upon it, lying to himself that it had nothing to do with the possibility of rejection. He'd wanted Thomas more than anything he'd ever wanted and as agonising as it was to love him and say nothing, the fear of finally having him and then being thrown into the Arena to never have him again was somehow worse.

Only now did he realise how wrong he had been.

They might have had years together, days in the field, evenings lurking by the trees and wandering the familiar streets, sitting by the fire in the winters. He might have had the chance to kiss Thomas every morning before school, to tell him hourly how he felt but he hadn't taken it. Ruled by a fear of losing what they could have had.

And now they'd never have it, because even if they made it through tonight, the next night, the Careers, the GameMakers' tricks, what then?

In the end one or both of them would have to die.

"… like before?"

He'd lose Thomas or he'd die for him and either way they'd lose. But Thomas had kissed him, he'd finally kissed him and whether it was fuelled by the fear of the Arena or not Thomas had kissed him and it had been the best and worst moment of his life. He'd had him, finally had him in his arms, their noses brushing, mouth soft and warm against his own and he had fallen further in love with him than he had ever deemed possible and yet even as it began Newt had known it had to end.

Just as they would.

He was startled by the hand on his shoulder, had wrenched himself from the touch before he'd seen who it was, breathing heavily. Frustration boiled in his blood.

"… okay Newt?"

Thomas was looking at him with startled eyes, drawing his hand back. The others were looking too and Newt snapped before he realised he was saying anything.

" _What the buggin' hell d'you want?_ " he hissed, glaring at his district-mate.

Thomas paused, surprised by the harsh words, his eyes a little hurt. The guilt Newt felt squirming hot in his gut was just another irritating warmth that drove him crazy along with his _stupid bloody fringe_! He dragged it from his eyes so hard he pulled it, needling pain shooting into his scalp. Thomas was still looking at him but he'd drawn back to level an anxious look his way.

Newt huffed, dragging his jacket off finally and dropping it in a heap beside his leg. He knew he was making a scene, irritation bubbling hot under his skin and making him want to scream. He crossed his arms to give them something to do. Their group was quiet, every eye on him. Newt was startled and embarrassed to find he was close to tears.

"Sorry." he bit out, looking away. "I'm too hot. It messin' with my head."

Thomas accepted it easily just like he always did, smiling sympathetically at him. Newt uncrossed his arms, feeling foolish.

"Yeah, i know the feeling."

Newt nodded, fiddling with the stripped twig in his hand. Minho went back to the knife he was working with, slicing the last of the fur from the squirrel they'd killed on the way back into the trees from retrieving water.

"I was just gonna ask whether you thought it'd cook the same way as the duck, on the sticks like before? I couldn't remember whether you'd stripped the bark off last time or not."

Newt felt Thomas's fondness in the air just as surely as he heard his words and he smiled back bashfully.

"Nah, i just left them as they were. It should cook fine like that."

_NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN_

He watched Newt carefully after his outburst, knowing exactly what he meant and feeling sorry for him. Newt seemed to be taking the warmth worst of all, his skin blotched red and the odd bead of sweat rolling from his hairline. His curls were flattened and dark around his face and neck and their damp weight was obviously irritating him. The subject changed to the Arena as Thomas filleted the squirrel and Minho started on the second one, piercing each piece onto sticks and setting them above the fire like Newt had the night before.

They had eaten what was left of the duck between the four of them, curbing the edge of their hunger for now. The greasy meat had been soft and tender in the film, a small but welcome comfort. Thomas had smiled fondly when he'd seen Newt passing Aris his own portion of duck when he thought no-one could see. The quiet kid had given him the most grateful look Thomas thought he had ever seen and shuffled over to sit against the tree beside Newt's, finally relaxing into their company.

Minho sat to one side and Thomas the other, the fire crackling between them all like they were playing cowboys and indians. They had three full water bottles, complete with the dissolved tablets, and although it had an odd taste to it water was water. They'd emptied all three before re-filling them and setting off into the trees again. Despite the urge to camp close to the water because of the heat they'd pushed on in a different direction for the sake of safety.

The Arena had been quiet for several hours now, and they hadn't come across anyone since finding Aris. Conversation turned to planning. Thomas thought their safest bet was the forest, plenty of coverage and places to hide, not to mention the fact that he could climb into a tree and he'd have the perfect perch for an archer.

Minho thought they should explore more, and Thomas's curiosity piqued considerably when he informed them he already had for a bit and could cross it off their list of possibilities. He'd gone beyond the imposing stone walls on the opposite side of the Arena from the forest. Everyone was listening to him speak.

"What's in it?" Thomas asked, forgetting the sticks of meat he was turning over as he looked at the asian boy.

"Maze." Minho said, barely lifting his eyes from the second squirrel he was skinning.

"What?"

"It's a Maze." Minho said in a bored tone. "Ran it the first day right before i found you two. There's nothing in there, not even animals, and it doesn't go anywhere. Just weird stone walls and loads of ivy. No water, no caves, no nothing."

Thomas waited, but Minho simply shrugged and said nothing more. Thomas found himself curious about the strange stone Maze. What was its purpose? Why put a Maze in the Arena when the goal is to kill everyone else and survive? If it didn't hold any advantages to be gathered, what was the point? Newt just shuddered beside him.

"Buggin' creepy, if ya ask me." he muttered, fiddling with his twig.

"Weird." Thomas agreed, trying to push it from his mind. If it didn't have anything for them then it didn't matter, really. Despite the curiosity that whirred in the back of his brain Thomas set to work on what _did_ matter - getting the squirrel cooked and the fire out before it got them cornered.


	27. Chapter 27

The squirrels hadn't tasted anywhere near as good as the ducks but nobody was complaining. They'd eaten and killed the fire by the time late afternoon had turned to evening and although they were all reluctant about it they had packed up and set off again. They had less chance of being found if they kept moving, kept alert. They didn't have the energy to jog let alone run and so they were trailing through the forest at a walk, everybody desperate for the sun to begin its descent and for the temperature to do the same.

They were careful with the water, restricted to small sips and sharing one bottle at a time. It was almost finished by the time the sun was about to set, the looming onset of dusk a welcome relief. The air cooled reluctantly and then all at once, leaving them shivering and uncertain whether they were truly happy about it. But it was such a relief to breathe air instead of shimmering heat.

"So what, do we head for the slope again or find somewhere new?" Thomas asked after a while, looking between Newt and Minho.

Newt had taken hold of his hand a while back and was sticking close. He'd been quiet since his temper had waned over the fire and although Thomas was feeling worried he knew it was really unwarranted. Newt was hot and tired just like the rest of them and he was trying to make up for his earlier mood by being sweet and affectionate and Thomas wasn't the least bit proud to say it was working like a charm. The blonde shrugged when he met his eye, a lop-sided smile on his face as he squeezed Thomas's hand.

"Whatever ya think, Tommy. You're the Leader."

Minho had sniggered, and shrugged when Thomas shot him a look. He held his hands up, but his expression wasn't the least bit apologetic, his eyebrows raised cockily as he walked backwards through the trees in front of them. His grin was cavalier and his eyes were flashing with humour.

"Who says i'm not the leader, blondie? I mean when you think about it i'm keeping you shanks safe. Position should fall to me by default."

He shrugged at the last part and Thomas rolled his eyes but somehow found himself smiling at the boy's confident manner. He was a curious study for sure, this asian boy from the Masonry district who could climb trees and for whatever reason hadn't tried to kill them yet. Newt snorted derisively at Thomas's side. Probably from being referred to as _blondie_.

"Thomas could kick your bloody arse any day of the week." he shot back, his lips a smug twist on his face.

Minho merely grinned wickedly and laughed again.

"Oh could he now? Care to try that out, Thomas? I'd even promise to leave my knives out of it. You know, make it almost fair."

He was teasing, but his words had an unsettling edge to them. Thomas didn't let it show that he was feeling defensive, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, sighing dramatically. An out-of-place mirth streaked through him and he taunted Minho back, dipping into an exaggerated bow.

"Oh no, oh Great One from the Masonry district. I wouldn't dare offend you."

Newt sniggered into his hand and even Aris was giggling, his face reddened and his eyes apologetic like he thought he shouldn't find it funny. Minho scowled, turning back to trot off in a huff before throwing Thomas a wink over his shoulder.

"Probably best. I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your _boyfriend_."

Thomas flushed as the other boy laughed, almost crying out a denial. But he stopped himself, glancing awkwardly at the blonde beside him. Newt was red in the face again and this time it had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature. He was biting his bottom lip even as he was scowling ineffectively at Minho's back. He glanced up at Thomas then before looking away again, shy and uncertain.

But he didn't let go of Thomas's hand.


	28. Chapter 28

They had agreed to Minho's plan to explore, deciding it best to start in the early morning after spending the night in the forest again because they knew their way there. They reached the slope easily enough, choosing trees further along just in case. The only living tribute who'd come across them there hadn't actually seen them _in_ the trees, so Thomas said he felt it was a safe enough plan. Minho had informed them that the giant tribute with the vicious eyebrows was his district-mate, the one he'd mentioned before.

"That was Gally. Vicious slinthead. He's dangerous. _Really_ dangerous, and too good with knives for his own good. Shuck knows how he got so big, his parents are pretty small for Masons." he muttered, assessing each tree individually, trying to decide.

Minho's voice was only vaguely irritated and it was uncomfortable to hear him talk about the terrifying tribute in such a throw-away manner. He terrified Newt, the thought of him linked intrinsically with the memory of him lunging at Thomas, pinning him to the forest floor like it was nothing. If Minho hadn't been there…

Newt didn't like to think about losing Thomas. He couldn't stop worrying about it but it made him feel cold and sick to his stomach at the things he might have to watch the brunette go through.

"We called him _Satan_ ," he murmured to distract himself, leaning against Thomas's side.

Thomas's arm had slid around his waist and it had surprised Newt how natural it felt. Like they'd been physically affectionate this way for years. Minho's laugh was sudden and rich, and he leaned against a tree, his other arm wrapping around his stomach as he laughed. Aris was nodding, an amused smile on his face. It was clear he knew who they were talking about.

"Satan. That's shucking perfect. It's exactly right. Man that's hilarious."

He wiped his eyes with one hand when he finally straightened, shooting Newt an appreciative look. Newt was grinning, and for just a moment it was nice not to feel terrified. Too bad it couldn't last. Minho turned back to the tree he was at before looking back over, slapping a hand against the bark.

"Okay shanks, i've picked. What's the plan here, are we in twos or what? I'm not really feeling great with company up there."

Newt looked to Thomas before he looked over at Aris. He was tiny, picking at his zip awkwardly because he knew they were talking about him and was pretending he didn't. They couldn't very well leave him on his own, could they? Thomas read Newt's mind, of course.

"That's okay. We'll take him with us, won't we?"

Newt nodded in agreement, smiling gently at Aris. The kid went red but smiled back.

"Good. Here we go."

With that Minho was climbing, and Newt turned to the tree Thomas had chosen, wondering how they were going to do this. Thomas nudge his side.

"You're tree-fairy. You're first. Aris, you'll follow, yeah? You okay with trees?"

The boy looked uncertain but nodded slowly anyway, looking up into the branches uneasily.

It turned out he was very much not okay with trees and it took a very long time for him to reach Newt's chosen perch, well over an hour, possibly close to two. Thomas was exhausted by the time he reached the criss-crossing boughs Newt had picked out, trying not tho think about the fact that Aris might be just as bad at staying in a tree as he was at climbing them.

They were a very long way off the ground.

**Boom.**

Thomas jerked awake, his neck spasming in complaint at the odd angle he'd left it at. He rolled his shoulders and turned his head from side to side to loosen the cramp as best he could, watching Newt waking. The air was as icy as it had been the night before and Thomas tried not to show how badly he was shivering. He couldn't feel his toes, even when he wiggled them. Or at least he thought he was wiggling them.

In the end Thomas had managed to convince Newt to get in the sleeping bag again, but it hadn't been a pretty argument. Aris's tiny frame was tucked in beside him, courtesy of both their lean forms and the fact that the sleeping bags were designed to fit the largest tributes too. They had finally settled after much cautious arranging and fear of falling, Newt's head resting on his waist as the blonde twisted in a weird position to allow for Aris curled like a cat against his chest, his small form warming Thomas's leg through the sleeping bag.

Thomas's hand was around Newt's shoulder again, his finger carding through his hair as they'd fallen asleep. Despite the noise Aris barely stirred, and coupled with the speed he'd fallen asleep at it made Thomas wonder if the kid had slept at all the night before, or even the night before they were sent up. He couldn't blame him. He himself was exhausted, what little sleep he was able to get uneasy and light. Newt smiled at him as he yawned awake to watch the sky, and Thomas ran his fingers across his cheek in return. Newt wriggled an arm out of the bag and reached across Aris to hold Thomas's other hand, linked their fingers and resting their palms flat.

The music started, stirring Aris but not waking him and they let him be.

The first flickering image was of Ava, her hair like fire in the dark sky. It left Aris the last of his district. With a sick feeling in his stomach Thomas began his count.

 _One_.

Textiles was skipped so the girl had survived, the two from Luxury and all four in Agriculture, Masonry.

_Twelve._

A boy called Frankie was killed from the Lumber district, making the boy who remained the last of his district.

_Thirteen._

The two from the Fishing district avoided the board.

_Fifteen._

Thomas found himself clenching his hand in Newt's hair as familiar faces appeared.

The dark-skinned boy with the scowl that he had silenced with his arrows. _Alby_.

The tall boy Minho had killed. _Nick_.

That meant Mining had lost all four tributes.

Nobody else had been claimed that day and the closing music filled the air, the sound making Thomas feel sick again.

 _Twenty-one left_.

In a day and a half twenty-seven tributes had died. Newt squeezed his hand gently, twisting his head to look up at him.

"You couldn't do anythin' else, Tommy. Us or them, remember that would ya?"

Thomas nodded, and the tears in his eyes didn't fall. But it was close. A whole day of the guilt of killing the boy he knew now to be Alby had had an effect. He still felt like a horrendous human being but it was easier to breathe. Ava too.

They were surviving now, that's all it was. And if it kept Newt safe he was willing and ready to do it again. As much as the thought cut into him he knew he'd kill again if it meant ensuring Newt's safety. He tried to smile but it failed. Newt closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against Thomas's hip.

"Get some sleep." he whispered.

Thomas's fingers brushed through Newt's hair, gently and carefully untangling the matted curls. It was soothing, and Thomas wasn't sure who was benefitting more from it as he relaxed again as best he could, closing his eyes. Newt was right. Newt was always right. He was drifting when Newt spoke up again, his voice softened by sleep.

"Love ya, Tommy."

Despite the freezing night Thomas felt a pleasant warmth thrum through him. He smiled as he rested his head back against the tree.

"Love you, Newt."


	29. Chapter 29

It was the heat that woke him. The heat and the wriggling form that was pressed against him. Newt opened his eyes to the dawn light, blinking awake as he remember what the squirming was. Aris. The Tech-Science kid that Thomas had rescued. He was pushing against the sleeping bag and twisting every-which way. His eyes were closed and his face was grimacing.

"I think he's dreaming. I wasn't sure whether to wake him or not."

He looked up at Thomas's gentle whisper and Thomas smiled back at him with a familiar combination of amused and fond.

"Hey, by the way."

He felt his cheeks turning red as he grinned back. Despite the fear that was creased in Thomas's face like it had been since their first moment in the Arena he had a warm sweetness flickering in his brown eyes that made Newt's heart thump _hard._

"Hey yourself, Greenie."

The old nickname slipped out, popping into existence from nowhere but long-ago memories. He felt silly but before he could apologise Thomas had leaned over the tiny tribute between them, crowding into Newt's space and then halting, like he'd run out of momentum just before their faces were touching.

Newt looked up at Thomas in surprise, catching the way the his eyes flickered over Newt's face, the way his face flushed. His heart was racing as their noses brushed, and he watched Thomas's dusky eyelashes close against the crests of his cheeks.

He was the brave one that time, tipping his mouth to slot it against Thomas's, their lips meeting in an uncertain flush of affection. There were no waves of despair this time, no fear of death right then. No excuse to hide behind. It was a clear-minded and deliberate kiss. It was a shy kiss, brief and exploratory and absolutely bloody _perfect_.

When Thomas drew back he took Newt's breath with him and Newt stumbled over a lungful of air as he opened his eyes to look at him. Thomas was smirking that cocky-sweet smirk and his eyes were glittering. Despite the new territory they were treading that same familiar smirk made Newt's world straighten a little, a comforting tie to his friend and his home.

"You haven't called me that in a long time."

Thomas sounded curious, dragging the water bottle from his pack to take a sip. He offered it to Newt with a raised eyebrow but Newt just shrugged as he took it. When he'd swallowed the mouthful of water he rolled his eyes.

"You haven't been a Greenie in my life for a long time."

Thomas didn't say anything else, but his smile was wide and pleased, pride resting delicately on the bow of his upper lip when he flashed Newt an almost shy glance.

They decided on waking Aris. They decided he'd had enough sleep to get him through the day and the boys packed up to begin the long journey down to the ground. Minho had chosen a tree a little way aways this time and they wandered down, calling for him when they were sure they'd found the right tree. When he didn't answer right away they craned their necks, looking up into the tree the boy had slept in the night before. When they were _certain_ he wasn't there they began to worry.

"Why would he go off like that?" Aris asked, his round eyes fearful as he hovered at Thomas's side.

"Dunno. We'd have heard if anybody came along, right Tommy?"

Thomas nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah we would've. He must have headed off on his own."

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, adjusting his quiver for the sake of doing something. He was surprisingly saddened by the missing presence of the asian boy. He'd known any alliance forged in the Arena would have to temporary, of course. If it wasn't ended by one of you dying, or leaving the other for dead, then it would have to end with one killing the other. Still he felt the impact of Minho's departure. It wasn't like losing a friend, really, and yet that's what it felt like. He'd known him just over a whole day. It wasn't like they'd been friends for long. If they were, even. He pushed it to the side when he looked back up, studying the trees on either side.

"There was nothing keeping him. He didn't have to stay."

Aris opened his mouth, but then he frowned and closed it again, looking like a child who just remembered something older people did, even if no-one fully understood it. Like why people had to die. Or leave.

"He could've." Newt murmured, his expression the same mix of disheartened and yet unsurprised that Thomas was feeling.

"Come on." Thomas said, trying to sound a little brighter. "We should get a move on. Stretch our legs, see what's out there. And we need to find food. Maybe fill the water up again."

Aris nodded, seeming more at ease that there was a structure being put in place. When Thomas smiled at him Aris smiled shyly back, and Thomas tried not to think about how easy it would be to kill him. How easily he might fall if they were cornered. It made him equal parts angry and resigned, and the angry part simply growled at the resignation.

Their journey was uneventful. They tread old ground, Thomas taking down a duck with an arrow and a little while later another. They ate around the covered ashes of their small fire, savouring the meal and their luck - they'd come across nobody else. It was a relief, a welcome break from the first two days. Without Minho they decided to wait until dark to approach the water, and if their luck held and they had the chance to wash two days of old sweat and the irritation of the awful heat they'd take it.

Thomas was absently licking the grease from the fingers of one hand and twirling a long twig in the other. It was roughly the same thickness as his arrows and although the ones from the fated quiver were treated wood, hard and perfectly balanced, he was pretty sure he could forge some new ones from branches. It could never hurt to have more than the ten or so arrows the quiver had come with, and it gave his hands something to do while his mind wandered and they awaited the night.

He was sitting at a right-angle to where Newt rested his back against a trunk, and the blonde's shoulder stirred every now and then as he flicked his grip on the pocketknife. When they'd seen what he was doing his group-mates - his _allies_ \- had quickly offered to help. Aris was genuinely curious, and as they'd eaten and sat around their dying fire he had talked.

Slowly at first and then more when he knew they were listening he spoke of his district, how he seemed to have the same natural flare for wiring and computers that his father had. He told tales of his mother, admitting sheepishly how he hadn't slept the first night because he missed her wishing him Goodnight. He spoke at length of his best friend Rachel who lived next door and had been his friend since she was born. The girl whose cries had almost gotten him killed, Thomas knew.

Aris's voice wobbled often as he spoke but he didn't cry. His words were warm and the Gladers could hear how he loved the people he spoke about. They listened, his quiet voice a pleasant sound in the camp they had made. The kid almost looked like he had forgotten where they were, what they were, and Thomas found himself feeling sad again. But a little part of him was warmed by it. Despite the awfulness around them they had created a safety between them, a cocoon inside their cage. And although it was temporary it was pleasant nonetheless.

It had given them something to do, their own focus creating a lull in the air between them comfortable despite the exhausting heat. It was ridiculously hot, and although he felt like he was almost breathing steam Thomas continued to lean against Newt's side. It was too hot, and only served to make them both even warmer, a damp stickiness gluing his shirt to Newt's. And yet when he twisted his head to look at the blonde Newt only met his gaze with an almost smile, his face as flushed from the heat as it ad been the day before. Every now and then he would tilt his head to the left, bumping his temple against the crown of Thomas's head just because. It was nice.

Amidst the horror of the Arena they had constructed a fragile peace.  
A sanctuary not in space but in name.

But the thing about the GameMakers is that they don't like sanctuary, and they don't care much for peace after the novelty has worn off.

After all, it's not terribly _entertaining_ to watch three tributes as they lounge around the ashes of a campfire with full stomachs and shave sticks into arrows, now is it?


	30. Chapter 30

They waited until the sun was fully gone and the light was fading. Thomas left Newt with Aris and the bow when he scouted the treeline the same way he and Minho had done before. Once he'd checked it all out he stepped cautiously out from between the trees and into the evening, his eyes flicking everywhere at once as he tried to determine whether they were alone there.

He couldn't see anything, but even when he finally waved the others over he was still feeling uneasy about being out in the open. They drank their fill of water, waiting in-between refills to give the little water tablets time to work. The Arena was cooling down for the night again, and unlike the heavy heat of the day the air seemed to constantly moving, sending tiny ripples across the water as though the lake were shivering.

"Why d'ya think he left?"

Newt asked a while later, when they were sitting at the water's edge. They were sitting side by side, slightly further up the beach than their young ally. Aris had taken his trainers off, and his socks, and was resting his feet in the water. Thomas thought he still looked far too young for the Arena, far too young for the Hunger Games to claim. It was unsettling and horrible to watch him sit there, when such an image should be peaceful and heartwarming. Thomas looked away to Newt, knowing who already.

"Minho?" he asked anyway.

Newt didn't react like Thomas expected. He didn't roll his eyes and shoot him the half-skeptical half-amused look he was so good at. He didn't snort, or declare Thomas's guess obvious. He just continued to watch Aris wiggling his toes and dragging his fingertips through the water. He looked almost wistful, and Thomas would bet he was thinking how much he would love for their lives to be so carefree again that they could sit by the water and dip idle fingers below the surface.

"Yeah. Why'd he go, Tommy?"

Thomas had been thinking about it all day. He knew it seemed silly to group into allies to fend off the other tributes because if you succeeded then where did it leave you? Fighting each other for the Victor's crown. Fighting each other to survive. And until the moment came when you had to turn on each other you had the pleasure of watching each other die at the hand of your opponents. He thought he knew why Minho had gone, thought he understood that much about him. He sighed as he sank back on his hands.

"Could be any reason. Maybe he prefers being on his own, like he said."

Newt sighed, dropping his head to look at his fingers. Thomas watched the faded light as it landed soft shadows on Newt's outline. It pained him more and more every time he looked at Newt, really looked at him properly. Every time he did he was reminded how many tributes there were who would rather Newt died than lived, how many would kill him to succeed, to survive. Newt had always been the strongest person Thomas knew and yet he couldn't help seeing him as fragile, as a delicate hope that any one of the others could extinguish at any moment.

And the worst part was knowing that it only made him love Newt more.

"I know he said it's better to be on your own, but i thought… Well i thought we'd changed his mind, ya know?"

"Yeah, i know." Thomas replied softly.

They were both thinking it but they weren't saying it. They were avoiding the thought that the reason Minho had left them was because the longer he stayed the harder he would find killing them when the time came. He had grown to like them like they had grown to like him, and in a place where any breath could be your last your emotions made attachments that much stronger because they were something to cling to. Maybe Minho thought he was better not having any connections.

"He told me it was dangerous to have friends out here, when we talked about you."

Newt looked up then, his expression unsettling.

"Dangerous?"

Thomas just nodded, looking back to where Aris was now wading in the water, his trouser legs rolled up to his knees. His heart felt cold and swallowing was hard. He looked away.

"Tommy… You know that if… If it was what ya wanted…"

Newt was uncomfortable, his eyes flickering to Thomas's face and away again as he twisted his hands together. Thomas watched him, frowning as he took him in. Newt wasn't really a fidgeter by nature. He bit his lips, toyed with them with his hand. He picked his nails sometimes if he was thinking. He didn't really twist his hands together like that, not unless his head was somewhere bad. Thomas knew what it was and his fear level spiked.

"If you're saying what i think you are, forget it."

Thomas cut him off firmly, giving Newt his best this-is-not-a-negotiation face. When Newt looked up at him again he looked almost desperate, a sadness and a guilt glimmering in his eyes. Thomas shook his head, knowing where the conversation was going and having none of it.

"No way, Isaacson. You're not getting rid of me that easy."

Newt hesitated, his eyes searching Thomas's face for something. He must have found it because he dropped his chin in a shallow nod, his shoulders lowering as he closed his eyes. Thomas reached out to find Newt's hand, entwining their hands together on the ground between them.

"You and me, Newt, okay? Promise me."

Newt nodded again, squeezing Thomas's hand. Thomas squeezed back, the fear receding again to the just-about-manageable level that was becoming normal. He kicked sandy-soil over Newt's trainer playfully, smiling a little when Newt looked at him again.

"Promise?"

Newt did roll his eyes then, looking skyward before back at him.

"I promise, ya sappy shank."

Thomas just grinned, and they sat for a moment or so before Newt tugged Thomas's hand.

"Come on, we should take the chance to clean off while it's here."

He tugged Thomas to the water, removing his socks and shoes like Aris had. He threw his jacket over them as he set to work rolling his trouser legs up. Thomas copied him, his eyes straying often to the blonde's lean form. Thomas rolled his own trousers up as he tried not to make it obvious he was throwing Newt appreciative glances.

Newt was in the water now, scooping it up to wash his face. The water slicked part of his fringe back and dripped down his neck as he grinned over at Thomas.

"Of all the things we've left back home i never thought a shower would be one i'd miss so bloody much."

Thomas sniggered as he waded over to join him, and when he shot the blonde a raised eyebrow leer he responded by knocking Thomas with his elbow and laughing as the brunette pinwheeled to catch his balance.

They cleaned their faces, doused their hair and every exposed patch of skin in water, washing as much of the stale sweat from their bodies as they could. The water was surprisingly warm in the cool of the night, a pleasant few degrees of a difference. Despite trying to keep as quiet as they could so as not to attract other tributes, Thomas couldn't resist flicking the odd handful of water at Newt, and it seemed his friend couldn't resist it either. They ganged up on Aris, and the younger boy led them deeper as he dodged their attacks with stifled laughter.

The second Thomas saw the shadow he tensed, fear spiking his heart rate and a trickle of adrenaline preparing to urge a fight or flight response from his system. He didn't notice he'd thrown out an arm, that it crossed Newt's midsection like a protective barrier. He didn't dare to even blink as he looked at the dark form.

"Get down." Thomas hissed from the corner of his mouth.

His mind raced for solutions. They were too far from the water's edge to get there before the tribute could run there. They might have a shot at the furthest edge but he couldn't be sure. The figure didn't look like it had a bow, so maybe they just faced knives. They were potentially within striking distance, especially if the other tribute had skills like Minho's. His thoughts turned to Aris's chatter about his district in a moment of brilliance.

"Like one of your springs Aris, ready to go, get me?"

"Yeah."

His quiet voice had almost cracked but he followed Thomas's instruction. He dipped himself low in the water, his round eyes watching the shadow of the tribute in the treeline. Thomas shifted his own footing between the two, putting himself further in front of Newt. His arm was still thrown out like a barrier against the blonde, and Newt had a gentle hold on his arm with both hands. He pressed closer to Thomas as he shallowed his breathing just like his district-mate.

The figure didn't move. It didn't cry out or seem threatening at all but Thomas wasn't stupid enough to believe he or she couldn't see them. The Arena may not have a moon but it had a grey sort of glow in the darkness that mimicked moonlight. There was a soft and subtle change in the light when it alighted on the water and he knew it would be throwing up their shadows as clearly as if there was a moon.

He knew he shouldn't have followed Aris out into the water, had known it was a bad idea to let his guard down. But he had gotten so distracted by the way that the water had made Newt smile that he'd allowed that to override his need to be constantly alert. His stomach dropped.

Not far from the tribute's feet were dark shapes, stark against the lighter ground near the water. Thomas cursed under his breath as he realised they'd left everything. Both of their packs, holding all of their supplies lay in the sand-soil, his bow too. Newt had even left his jacket. Fear seized his insides as the adrenaline trickle became a flow.

The tribute had access to their bow. It lay mere feet from him or her. Thomas fought hard not to make a sound but inside he was growling in frustration. This was all his fault. He'd let his guard down and now…

If either of his friends got hurt because of him he'd never forgive himself.


	31. Chapter 31

Thomas had thrown his arm across Newt as though it was automatic and even though he was trying to focus on the threat just like Thomas was, there was a part of Newt that was reeling with affection for him. There was a chill in the air that seemed to have a different consistency to the cool night air. It was slimmer, blade-like and edgy and it shivered up his spine like a bad omen.

"Tommy?" he breathed, his mouth close to Thomas's ear. "What d'ya think we should do?"

Thomas barely twitched to acknowledge him, his answer a faint breath.

"Just get ready. We're going to have to make a go of it."

Newt was just beginning to wonder which way they were going to be diving through the water when Thomas's head whipped so far to the right that he could hear it crack. When he turned to look Newt's stomach filled with a dreadful heaviness.

There was another shadowy figure stepping from the trees on the far side. As panic began to flutter in his ribcage he turned the other way just in time to see another one, smaller than the others but just as dreadfully mysterious. Newt felt himself trembling, and it had nothing to do with the cold or the water. He clutched Thomas's arm hard, looking between the shadowed forms as his gaze refused to settle on just one. His heart was racing.

"Thomas _whatdowedo_?" he hissed, struggling to keep his voice quiet.

Thomas twisted his arm to catch hold of Newt's shirt and he grabbed a handful, pulling Newt closer.

"Only one way out." he hissed back.

Newt saw he was right. There was the first tribute between them and the familiar part of the forest, and another to the right. The third was by the trees where the forest was finishing, leaving only the left side open to them.

_The only problem there was that the left side led to the open ground and the BloodBath centre._

"Bloody fuck."

Thomas snorted humourlessly in response. Newt tensed, ready to run. Thomas's free hand reached out for Aris, and he tapped his thumb on the left side of the boy's head. It was a tiny motion, but Newt noticed. He could only hope the shadowed tributes didn't, though it'd be stupid to hope they wouldn't know they'd run in the only unblocked direction.

" _Go_!"

Aris was up and off like a shot, his leap from his crouch sending him several feet, giving him momentum. Thomas was right behind him and Newt beside him, hating that running in water had to be so shucking difficult. His legs were uncooperative with fear but he pushed on, his only focus hoping he wouldn't stumble down into the water.

They took a curved route, doing as much to avoid the deeper water as they could without giving the shadows the advantage. Newt didn't risk a glance until they were mere feet from the sandy soil of the left bank. What he saw sent him tripping into Thomas and almost brought them both down. When Thomas tossed him a glance to check on him Newt tried to speak around the terrified closing of his throat. Thomas threw his head round to look and even in the pale grey darkness Newt could see his face paling.

"What the _hell_?"

Standing by the water where the first figure had stood were now three figures, even the smaller one from the very opposite bank. Newt looked to check and confirmed it.

_How did he get there so fast?_

In mere seconds the smallest shadowy form had cleared half the circumference of the lake, before they'd even made it to beach.

It was a true horror settling in Newt's stomach then, and even when the unyielding water gave way to the uneven sink of the water's edge it didn't abate. He continued to run, fuelled more by panic than anything else, Thomas right beside him and Aris beside him. They ran as the soft soil gave way to firmer grassland and soon they were nearing the platforms. They were flat pale disks in the dull moonless moonlight, encircling the centre structure like some twisted version of a fairy circle's Sonya used to tell him stories of. They were on truly open ground now and Newt felt how he thought a rabbit must feel when darting across a field as hawks circled above.

"Where?" he panted, too afraid even to glance to the side in case he tripped over something.

Thomas was quiet for a long moment before he gestured to the left again. Newt veered without question, even though he felt full of them. Where were they heading? The closest place to hide beyond the BloodBath centre was beyond the strange stone walls. A Maze, Minho had told them it held. A bloody _Maze_. What on earth was that for? What good was that?

They ran, skirting the large circle of platforms and continuing. Newt was painfully aware of how out of breath he felt already, adrenaline forcing the air from his lungs before his body had time to absorb the oxygen. Their footsteps were heavy on the compact ground and despite the fact that they were running from three threats they could be running right towards others. He wished they'd stayed in the safety of their forest. At least they knew where they were, had places to hide from other tributes, a source of food. They'd left everything behind. Their packs, the water, their supplies. His jacket. The bow.

 _They were shucked_.

They were nearing the giant column of dark shadow that signalled the entrance to the mysterious grey walls when the scream rang out. It was loud and raw in the night, sending the three boys stumbling in surprise. Thomas caught himself on his hands and pushed up again but Newt and Aris went down hard. Aris rolled, surprising both Gladers as he found his feet in seconds, pausing when he glanced over. He bolted to Newt as Thomas reached him and they dragged him up as he took a breath and tried to get his feet under him.

Despite the chill he was sweating, panting helplessly as he began to run with them again. Before the screaming had even ended there came another, and then a third, sending fear and pain into the sky like bats. Newt was still clutching at Thomas from being helped up, his heart pounding so hard he felt it'd break free. They were turned towards the forest as they saw the figures come running from it.

The three of them had stopped, even though he didn't remember doing so. They stood and stared across the huge expanse of flatland between the stone walls and the trees, unable to explain what they were looking at. It seemed like tributes from the whole length of the forest were fleeing it like a stampede of animals, and they weren't even pausing to fight each other. Instead they were running like the devil himself was after them and it made Newt cold all over.

_What could be so truly awful they'd run out into open ground without fear of each other?_

He didn't know how long they'd stood, holding their breaths as they watched six, ten - _fourteen?_ \- tributes flee the forest. A heartbeat? Five? A minute? Two? They didn't say a word, didn't look at each other but he knew they were all waiting without knowing it.

Waiting to see what was chasing them.

He needn't have worried, because at that very moment there was a sound behind him. A quiet sound so chilling and unknown that it filtered through the screaming, cutting through it all like a keen blade. It was almost a click. But more like a click-snap, with a thick and wet sounding dragging noise tailing it off. Newt swore his heart stopped and the Arena around him froze as he felt the cold wind that blew eerily from the opening behind him. The sound came again. A snap-click. Metallic, sharp. The wet drag, like the sound of a bundle of wet clothes on concrete. And then a whirr, like the old computer on his teacher's desk. _A cooling fan_ , she'd called it, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

Dread was leeching into his skin as though the sound itself were coating him in it. He turned his head, a dreadfully long, slow motion. They weren't far from the stone walls. His eyes alighted on a bizarre metal square, a plaque upon the stone as though to signpost the entrance. There were words, raised on the metal and faintly legible in the darkness. Despite his fear of the chilling gust of wind that billowed from the dark hole, despite the sounds filling his ears and turning his brain to jelly Newt read the metal words.

**_The Maze._ **

**_Entry after sunset is ill-advised._ **

Before his brain could process the odd, out-of-place wording the whirring sound came again. It was much louder now, and followed by the tooth-grinding wet slapping sound. Newt knew he should be running. He knew they should be half-way across the Arena by now, anywhere away from the open where the other tributes could see them. His heart was hammering, so fast it didn't even feel like individual beats. Anxiety crawled on his skin like ants, biting, each clamp of small jaws a warning to turn and run _now_.

But he was still staring into the darkness as the sounds filled his ears like poison, cementing him where he was. There was a shadow moving in the darkness. There was something in the Maze. His heart kicked up further, jackrabbiting _hard_. As though in a dream Newt found his legs moving anyway, his feet taking forward. Three steps. Four. Five.

When the occupant of the Maze dragged itself from the deeper shadow with a whir-click-snap-squelch Newt's heart stopped beating altogether.


	32. Chapter 32

Thomas turned at the sound of Newt's gasp, and what he saw made his blood run cold. From between the two imposing stone walls came a creature Thomas had never seen before. It was huge and bulbous, with slimy-looking rubbery skin and metal arms. They ended in a variety of lethal looking implements. Blades, a snapping-claw. A whirring disk of metal teeth. Several of them were thick dark syringes ending in short, fat needles that looked somehow familiar. He gaped at it as the creature dragged itself forward with a thick slapping sound.

_What the shuck?_

He stumbled backwards a step, bumping into Aris's small form. The kid looked as petrified as Thomas felt, and somehow seeing that broke him from his stupor. He nudged him, perhaps a little harshly, but he was shaking. The other tributes were all screaming now, a noise that put his already frayed nerves further over the edge. It was terrifying to hear.

"Run." he managed to splutter, his mouth unwilling to cooperate with what he had to say.

Newt seemed frozen in place, his face paler than moonlight and blank with fear. Thomas looked between the two boys, his mind racing to try and come up with an escape route.

"Shuck." was all Aris said in response, his round green eyes looking up at Thomas in fearful disbelief.

There was a cry of fear and Thomas turned back just in time to see the creature's metal arm strike out at Newt. His heart jumped to his throat as he saw the blonde go down. He dropped like a stone in the ocean and Thomas wasn't thinking straight, he was at his side before the creature had even drawn back fully.

"Newt! Oh shit, Newt!"

He reached for him, shaking his shoulder. Newt was moaning, one hand clutching at his side as he did so. His eyes were closed and his face was scrunched up in pain. When Thomas got a look at the side he was curling protectively against he felt more afraid. There was blood on Newt's hand, thick and dark and scary.

"Newt? Fuck, what-"

Thomas's heart was erratic, bouncing around in his chest like a pinball. He grabbed for the blonde's shoulders, hooking his hands under them and dragging him from the clutches of the terrifying blubbery creature. There was a flash beside him and then Aris was in front of him, grasping at Newt's ankles and trying to lift them, to help Thomas drag him out of the way. The massive creature let out a grinding shriek, whipping it's arms through the air towards them.

"Aris! Aris stay away from it, don't let it near you!"

The kid barely managed to dive in time and the creature missed him only _just_. Thomas's mind was racing. Newt was light, he knew that, but he was roughly the same height as Thomas himself and Aris was only a kid. _Fuck_.

The creature was coming closer and Thomas and Aris were back at Newt, lifting him and carrying him out of reach as fast as they could. Something sharp bit into Thomas's foot as he back-pedalled but he didn't have time to check. His shoulders were complaining from the dead weight by the time they laid Newt on the nearest white staging panel, and while Aris trembled and kept an eye on approaching figures and the creepy blubbery creature Thomas looked Newt over as quickly as he could.

"Newt? Can you hear me? Where does it hurt? Can you open your eyes? Newt, man look at me!"

He was groaning, crying gently in pain and when he opened his eyes at Thomas's command his brown eyes were glazed and hazy. Thomas worked frantically, listening to fear in Aris's voice climb as danger got ever closer. He pried Newt's hands away from his side and yanked the boy's shirt up. He didn't have time to think about how in different circumstances his face would be burning.

There was a fat purple bruise just below Newt's ribcage, a hole the size of the nail on his little finger perched right in the middle. The blood was dark against Newt's pale skin but he wasn't bleeding all that heavily. Thomas had worked out what it was though, why the syringe-like needles on the monster had looked so familiar.

"Tracker Jack venom." he spat, looking fearfully down at his best friend. "That's just fantastic."

"Shit."

Aris was close to tears, Thomas could see them glittering in his eyes when he shot the kid a glance.

"Shit indeed."

He looked back down at Newt as he got behind him, trying to lift the boy by his shoulders. Newt simply curled out of his arms with a pained cry, clutching at his side. Thomas was truly panicking. He could hear the screaming, the pounding of feet as people ran from the trees, ran towards them and to the side, where the buildings were, far off into the sandy area. They had to get out of there before they were cornered.

The blubbery monster seemed to have lost interest in them and was moving towards the grass gave way to gritty sand, sights set on other tributes who were fighting there. He couldn't get a good grip on Newt, and his fingers were thick with fear and uncooperative. He could feel desperation pushing through him and he wanted to cry. They needed to get out of there fast.

"We need-"

"MINHO!"

Thomas looked up at the kid's scream, his eyes picking out the racing form amongst the others. The boy had heard him it seemed and he had changed direction, turning towards them. Thomas knew it was premature to celebrate because for all they knew the asian boy saw them as easy targets but it was there anyway, a wary rush of relief. He slid Newt's knife from his belt just the same.

"You shanks just can't keep away, huh?" the boy called as he drew near.

Before Thomas even had the chance to supply a witty reply Minho had swooped in, taking hold of Newt and tossing his slim form over his shoulder like he weighed practically nothing. Thomas's heart skipped and he reached for the blonde but Minho just grabbed the arm instead, pulling him into a run as he turned.

"Come on kid. You shanks better get a move on."

He was off and running again, and Thomas followed, a confused and fearful lump in his throat. He couldn't take his eyes from the sight of Newt draped over the boy's broad shoulder, but he heard Aris running beside him. Minho was heading back in the direction they had come from and Thomas shouted after him but he wasn't listening. And if he was listening he wasn't answering. His head was fuzzy and jumbled and it was hard just making sure one leg went in front of the other. The screaming was getting worse, pained and terrified sounds painting the air like blood painted the ground.

Minho ran right at the water, not bothering to take his shoes off or roll his trousers. He simply ploughed right into the water, sending heavy ripples crashing to either side like startled waves. Thomas looked at Aris as he followed, plunging into the water after him. The soak of the water shocked him and set his brain right again, and he pushed through the pressure of the water as he followed Minho.

The water was at his waist by the time he caught up with him, and Minho was panting. When he approached the boy shot him a wide grin, looking for all the world like they hadn't just run away from crazy rubber-and-steel monsters to hide in the middle of an open body of water.


	33. Chapter 33

"What are we doing?" Thomas spat out, clutching at his knees as he tried to catch his breath. The water lapped up his elbows but he didn't take his eyes from Minho and his oddly cheerful grin.

"Hello Thomas, nice to see you too Thomas, saved your shuck ass? Nah, it was nothing Thomas."

Despite the dire nature of their predicament, Thomas fought the urge to snort in amusement. He shot Minho a half-hearted glare instead.

"Why are we in the water in plain sight when there's monsters and tributes everywhere? Shouldn't we hide?"

He shot an anxious look over to the Arena centre, seeing the tributes that were running about there, seeing the horrid dragging blubber-and-metal monsters that were hunting them. There were several figures far into the sand, so far Thomas could only see faint dark dots against the paler sandy backdrop.

"They won't come in the water. They've cleared us out the forest and looks like they hang about the Maze. Dunno about sand. Maybe they'll follow them there, maybe they won't. Hard to tell."

Minho looked so matter of fact that Thomas wondered how he could possibly know. He wanted to question it and yet at the same time he just didn't have the energy for it. Hot days and so much running was tiring. He threw Minho a smirk.

"You better hope they don't or we'll let them have you."

Not true, of course. The boy just shot Thomas a skeptical look and shrugged Newt from his shoulder.

"Who, you and the kid and scrawny's unconscious ass? Good luck with that."

Thomas was by his side instantly, all thoughts of mirth gone. He helped Minho right Newt, ducking under the blonde's arm on his uninjured side. He slipped a gentle arm around his waist, avoiding the sore area as Newt groaned and rolled his head back.

"Newt? Newt it's Thomas. You gotta wake up man. Come on."

Newt's feet settled on the lake floor obediently and he moaned but it was pretty much only Thomas that was keeping him upright. Aris crowded round too, helping Thomas lift the boy's shirt to get a good look at the wound in the dim grey light.

It was a dark and terrifying mark on his pale skin, and the water was just below the ragged edge, lapping up whenever anyone moved. It didn't seem to be hurting him and Thomas wondered if the water might help. Whether to calm the burning feeling or cleanse he didn't know.

What he really needed was to lie Newt down and somehow treat the wound. Even if all he could do was clean it out and bandage it with something. Newt was mumbling, barely conscious.

"It hurrrts." Newt whined when Minho probed the wound.

Thomas shot the asian boy a warning look and Minho rolled his eyes. But he was being gentle, at least he looked like he was. Newt flinched and drew away from his hands, closer to Thomas. Thomas's heart swelled painfully with worry.

"It's okay, Newt. Minho's helping. We have to check it out."

Newt whimpered tiredly, turning his face into Thomas's neck. His face was cold against Thomas's pulse.

"Tommy it _hurrrtss_."

Thomas pressed a kiss to his forehead automatically, nosing Newt's fringe out of the way. He brought his free hand up to rub comforting circles on Newt's neck with his thumb.

"I know." he whispered as soothingly as he could. "I know."

The arm Thomas had thrown over his shoulders jerked as Newt gave a pained cry, and his long fingers clenched hard in Thomas's jacket. Thomas hurt to hear Newt in pain but he was at a loss as to what to do about it. Despite how much he tried not to think about it there was a dreaded anticipation taking up residence in his head. He'd seen the effects of TrackerJack venom in several different Hunger Games, and it wasn't pleasant. The poison ate through a tribute like burning pain once it had kicked in, and it would drive him mad.

Thomas had seen tributes claw their own eyes out under the influence of several doses of the venom, and if a tribute came across the wrong end of a nest of the waspy creatures they were as good as dead. The poison flared through the bloodstream, leaving a wound that leaked and bruised and travelling as a boiling heat through their veins.

Without a dose of the very pricey antidote and plenty of rest and water the tribute would suffer through the different phases in constant pain. The wound would continue to bleed, their skin and blood would burn and they would quickly become dehydrated. And seeing them writhe around in agony wasn't even the worst of it.

The last phase was sickening to watch happen, and the whole of Panem had to anyway.

The tribute would go mad, screaming and hallucinating, attacking things that weren't there, attacking themselves. The last kick of the venom saw them with temporary amnesia. They would forget who they were and in the past Thomas had seen a Hunger Games where a tribute under the venom's hold had brutally attacked her district's other tribute who had been her ally _and_ her brother no less, killing him grotesquely with her own hands, tearing at skin and screaming like she was possessed.

The loss of lucid thought and all the screaming got a stung tribute killed pretty quickly.

Thomas looked at Newt's scrunched up pale face, at the horrific purple-black wound on his side. He was dreading the process more than he'd ever dreaded anything, and he had tears in his eyes as Newt continued to whimper and whine, crying out in pain when nobody was even touching him. He looked to Minho helplessly. Minho just looked back at him with unreadable dark eyes and shrugged.

"He's been stung." he told him simply, something Thomas already knew. "You better hope his shank ass got good sponsors or he's got a nasty couple days ahead of him instead."

Thomas could feel the familiar grasp of fear as it wound its way up his spine. He could feel the cold kicking in properly as the dimness darkened into true night. He could only barely see the edge of the water anymore, the structure in the Arena centre. The screaming was dying too, but the bone-chilling snapping-clicking-whirring screeches were still filling the air like bad omens.

"You sure they won't come near the water?" he asked instead.

He could feel the water chilling. It had been warmer than the air earlier as though it had held onto the heat of the day, but now it was cooling too. They couldn't stand in freezing water all night. He tried not to think about it because it just made him feel colder. Minho shrugged a little, his eyes focused in the direction of the centre. He'd abandoned his checking of Newt's side, and Thomas knew it was because he couldn't do anything to help him. He swallowed.

"They won't." Minho answered without looking at him.

"How do you know?"

Aris had been quiet but now he piped up cautiously. Thomas could hear he was still wary of Minho, and he didn't blame him. Thomas was still wary of Minho. He pressed a kiss to Newt's forehead when the boy cried into his shoulder again, the pain-filled sleepy sounds of a sick person. His skin was warm under Thomas's lips. The venom had started heating him already.

"I don't know, shuck face. But it's metal, and it's like a big shucking slug or something. I can't see its crank ass swimming, can you?"

Aris just shook his head uncertainly, meekly moving closer to Thomas and Newt in the shuffling-splash movement of someone trying to walk in high water. Thomas had to resist the urge to reach out and draw the kid in close, afraid that it'd give Minho the impression that it was a them and him situation. He didn't fancy their chances if the boy decided that killing them now would save him doing it later.

"D'you think they'll stay out there all night?"

Minho looked at him then, and Thomas was sure he could see something behind the walls the boy had erected in his eyes. Something that could be fear.

"I think they were sent for a reason. It's too early on for them to be getting bored of nobody dying. Something must have happened out there, something they don't like. They've been told to send something in as a warning, or punishment."

Thomas watched his dark eyes flitting around as he spoke, his brain working in a way Thomas's frantic thoughts wouldn't allow him to.

"I'd bet my knives some shank tribute managed to do something that pissed them off. Or something they weren't supposed to manage."

Something the Capitol didn't want to happen had happened. His best friend was semi-unconscious by his side, in pain and about to be subjected to days of screaming in agony and burning as the venom ate him from the inside out. A vicious sort of pleasure at the thought of President Snow being given a _fuck you_ from one of the other tributes worked its way through him.

"Huh." he said out loud, careful to keep his true feelings hidden. The last thing he needed was to get his district in trouble. But it was difficult to hide the terrible pleasure he felt. "Wonder what happened."

Minho just shrugged, stretching out his arms and rolling his shoulders before shaking out his hands.

"Don't see that it matters. Knowing won't change the shuck mess you're in right now."

Thomas looked again at Newt, seeing even in the dark the sheen of sweat gathering on the boy's pale brow and rolling down his neck. The fever had already started, and soon he'd be screaming. His stomach wanted to empty itself at the thought.

There was absolutely _nothing_ he could do about what his best and only friend in all the world was about to go through.


	34. Chapter 34

Thomas knew he'd switch places in a heartbeat. The thought of Newt suffering made it hard to breathe, made their fight feel a little more pointless. He was holding him as close as Newt would let him, murmuring softly to him when he jerked and groaned, brushing his hair from his face as it grew damp and heavy with sweat. He ignored the way Minho was glancing at him, the worried side looks Aris was giving him.

He stood and he murmured and he worried for what felt like forever as they stared off across the Arena and listened as the screaming began dying down, as the blood-chilling clicking and snapping seemed to fade. They could see no more figures, hear no more running.

They were silent and still for forever, saving the strength they had in case one of those things decided it really did want to come in to the water. One had passed by, the last one they'd seen come from the trees, and it had moved at their awful slap-crawl, clicking and whirring. They didn't seem to have faces yet it still seemed that the thing looked over at them in the darkness.

It didn't leave the solid grass, not even to move onto the softer soil that led to the sand that led to the water. But it felt like it stared them down for every long minute as it passed, sending dark chills up Thomas's spine and making him feel like something terrible was coming.

He could only hope that they hadn't ticked the Capitol off themselves.

But how could they have?

They'd participated as little as possible so far, and while that would be a reason to target them later on it didn't mean anything in the beginning days.

Right?

Maybe someone had found a weakness in something the Capitol had sent. Maybe someone had managed to get something through from their sponsors that shouldn't have gotten through.

Maybe someone had found an outer edge and used it to their advantage. They didn't like seeing people use the aggressive forcefield to their own ends, no matter how _entertaining_ the results may be.

Maybe it was a paranoia because they'd sent one of their monsters into the Arena so quickly.

Maybe it was because his best friend was beginning the most horrific process the GameMakers had ever devised.

Whatever it was it made the Arena seem even more dangerous now, as if such a thing were even possible.

Thomas was reminded forcefully that there were worse things that could happen to a tribute than death.

"OoooowWW!"

Thomas felt his heart twisting.

"Hey, Newt, it's okay. I'm here man. I'm here."

"T-Tommy it- it- _aaarghh!_ "

He held him in a hug, as careful as he could be of that awful wound while giving him as much comfort as he could. Newt groaned and sobbed into the crook of his neck. He had no idea what they were going to do when the screaming started. How did you keep that quiet?

He looked at Minho and Minho looked back.

He didn't expect sympathy, he didn't expect Minho to care. Of course not. That'd be ridiculous and incredibly unhelpful anyway. But Thomas began to feel the least confident he had since he'd stepped into that glass tube. So far everything had been geared towards keeping Newt safe. They'd been doing okay, for Gladers.

Hadn't they?

They'd had a system worked out. They had access to food, access to water. They'd had two allies and a bow and the trees to hide in. They'd been surviving without as much of the horror he had seen year after year.

He had seen Games where the Arena was practically barren, a sun-scorched sandy expanse with few water sources and less food. To say that year's viewing had been brief was an understatement. The Gladers hadn't even bothered running. One had entered the BloodBath and fought, the other had simply sat down on his platform circle and awaited their attentions.

Thomas had watched with everyone else and a part of him had been unable to be as angry as his district felt, how much they felt like their immediate surrender was a slight to the district, to their families.

Because he'd looked at it all and wondered what point there could have been to doing so.

It had been agonising to be be forced to sit there, day after day.  
Most of the tributes who died after the BloodBath were from exposure and dehydration.  
Starvation nearly took out the Victor.

And he had been plagued by nightmares.

Because if watching them die in there was an ordeal, could anybody truly imagine what it had felt like to _be_ there?

He didn't expect Minho to understand. He _knew_ the boy wouldn't be able to. They'd known him so briefly, a sum total of hours that just didn't cut it.

But he felt helpless. And although he'd been terrified and in an almost perpetual state of panic and worry since they had arrived at least he'd had a solid plan in his head to cling to. Newt's survival. He'd had the blonde to look at, catching his eye and passing him a smile that was reassuring. Rolling his eyes at him and calling him out on his softened disposition when it came to the blonde. He been able to leave Newt in the tree and… and neutralise the threats to his life.

He'd been able to _do_ something.

And now?

Now he was going to have to watch Newt fall apart under the influence of that horrid blue venom. He was going to have to watch it tear apart his best friend, the boy that he'd die for, the boy that he _loved_.

How would he prevent Newt from bringing other tributes running when he screamed in pain?

How was he going to make sure Newt didn't hurt himself when it took proper hold?

How was he going to be strong enough to watch Newt forget who he was, forget who _Thomas_ was, and still keep him from the clutches of the other tributes? From _himself?_

He'd seen tributes take out opponents who had been stung, and it wasn't always because they were a threat. He'd seen years with tributes like themselves, who weren't Careers, weren't in it for the glory of the kill and the triumph of the win, who were there because they had been unlucky enough to be sacrificed. He'd seen them give poisonous substances over, seen them try to find a way to kill them and save them from the pain.

He'd watched the Games every year of his life and it wasn't the victorious kills or vicious triumphs he remembered most.

It was the mercy.

He'd seen a girl die because she had put herself in danger to give a TrackerJack victim the easiest way out. She had witnessed the stinging. Had seen it because he'd been _hunting her_ when it happened. He'd had two - or it might have been three - wounds _just_ like the one Newt had now. She had escaped the attack, had been doing okay avoiding her opponents. They were down to just a meagre handful. It was looking like it might be three days and it would be over. It even looked like it could be sooner than that.

She'd been called Ella, he remembered. A tiny thing from the Fishing district who had spent her free hours as a child perfecting how to shoot fish with a bow because it was a trick her father had been able to do to entertain her. The little things you learned about a tribute as you watched them in the Arena could be such painful reminders of their lives, of the fact that they were just children still.

She hadn't been the youngest in the Arena but she'd been the smallest by miles, and had stayed safe by flitting about and hiding in places the larger tributes wouldn't fit.

And she had heard his screaming, and she had given him the poison her sponsors had sent her for tipping her arrows. She had kept hold of him while he spasmed and died, so much quicker than he would have from the venom. She had held him until he died, crying all the while.

A perfect stranger.  
An opponent who had tried to kill her.  
A boy she didn't know, a boy she had been sent into the Arena to kill and triumph over.

And she had ended it for him when he was past the point of being able to do it himself.

And she had been found and killed by Careers for her trouble.

Her death had been a tragedy just like so many others he had seen on that screen. And yet Ella had stuck with Thomas, and others like her, so few and far between.

Because moments like that were proof the _proud tradition_ of the Hunger Games was a sham, a vicious and cruel punishment for something nobody alive had even witnessed happen.

He looked down at Newt's face. He pushed his soaking fringe from his eyes with gentle fingers and he watched the pained grimace as it squirmed on his features. He felt his weight against him. He felt the grip of Newt's fingers digging into his back, clutching at him as he whimpered and burned up. He saw the sweat rolling off of him, could see the dark, frightening patch growing on his shirt from the monster's cruel strike and he could feel the strength they had both been clinging to ebb away.

He'd stand watch when the screaming started and alerted the others.

He'd kill for him.

He'd _die_ for him.

But would he have Ella's strength, would he be able to show that same mercy when it was past the point of no return?


	35. Chapter 35

It felt like hours.

They'd long since stopped any attempts at conversation and simply stood in the water like statues, watching nothing. The Arena was at its darkest and the air was chilling. The water had, by some miracle, kept to pattern and sat a handful of degrees warmer than the air.

Considering how icy the air was that wasn't really saying much. It was probably only just keeping their bodies above freezing.

Thomas had convinced himself that he could feel the blood in his veins growing thicker, sluggish. He couldn't feel anything below the waterline where it severed his waist, but that might have been because he hadn't moved in, well…

It felt like hours.

Newt wasn't holding himself up at all any more, the entirety of his weight - what little it was - resting on Thomas. He was breathing shallowly against Thomas's neck and Thomas was hopeful that he was more asleep than unconscious. He made very little noise now, even his voice seemed tired as his energy had trickled away.

It was highly likely the pressure of the water was the only reason Thomas hadn't given out. His eyes were heavy and he'd been dozing on and off where he stood. Aris had stuck close as the night had taken proper hold, starting off at Newt's other side and doing his best to help Thomas prop him up.

Eventually he had moved around to Thomas's open side and now leaned against him, his eyes closed as he succumbed to the cold and the exhaustion of their day, Thomas's arm resting on his shoulders. Minho had moved closer too but still stood apart, showing no signs of tiring as he kept his eyes on the darkness. Thomas couldn't help but look between Newt and Aris, feeling anxious at the sheer amount of vulnerability between them.

It wasn't that he'd prefer they were more like Minho. That wasn't true. In fact as much as he admired Minho's stoic and unreadable nature it worried him too. Wasn't he afraid? Didn't he fear anything the Arena held for them?

And yet he was so unfazed by everything that Thomas found himself hoping he'd stick around again. It made Thomas feel a little lighter knowing he wasn't the sole decision-maker. Especially considering how badly his brain functioned when it came to Newt and the possibility of the blonde getting hurt.

**Boom.**

He jerked violently, falling under the weight of his district-mate and the locked muscles in his legs. He fell back into the water, taking Newt and Aris with him.

The splash was jarring after so much quiet and he choked out a mouthful of the odd-tasting water before managing to get his feet back under him. Aris had loosed a squeak before plummeting under the water. Minho dragged Newt up to let Thomas stand, and he looked between them all with a faint smirk toying with the corner of his mouth.

Thomas looked at Aris as they shook themselves off. The boy was drenched, not an inch of him dry after his tumble. Thomas hadn't fared much better, only a portion of his hair left dry. He wobbled to his feet as he tried to shake the muscles out and take Newt back. The blonde was mumbling and trying to open his eyes as though waking from a deep sleep.

The sky flickered to life and Thomas raised his head for the ritual.

Tech Sciences skipped, Aris still alive.

Luxury lost a female tribute called Lana. Her face crackled in that flag-waving manner, pale and surrounded by limp blonde curls.

Power lost their last remaining tribute, signalling they were out of the race to Victory.

The music played and Thomas was stunned. Nineteen tributes left and not one but _four Gladers still in play!_ He found himself cheered despite everything.

All four Gladers still in play. He didn't think it had ever happened before. He pressed a kiss to Newt's cheek.

"Adam."

He looked over at Minho when the boy spoke, shooting him a curious glance. Minho shrugged like it hadn't been anything important.

"I almost remembered it. Thought it was Adrien or something. Adam."

Thomas frowned, feeling uneasy at the mention of the dead tribute from the Power district. Minho's interest signalled it was probably his kill. He looked like he could just brush it off, so unruffled that it made Thomas nervous to think about it.

He made a desperate bid to change the subject as Minho's eyes met his own.

"Think it's safe to get out of the water yet? We're going to be useless tomorrow if we don't get _some_ sort of sleep."

What he really meant was that he needed to lie Newt down, get his sting cleaned and bandaged. Could he risk a trip into the supply-strewn centre to search for medical supplies? He eyed a subdued Aris and stony-faced Minho.

More to the point, could he really leave Newt behind while he did so?

"They seem to have gone back to whatever holes they dragged their crank asses out of."

Thomas flinched at the thought of them, his arm pulling Newt closer without thought. Minho looked at Newt for the first time in hours, and Thomas wondered whether he was imagining the flicker behind the unreadable dark eyes.

What was Minho thinking? Was it concern or something else? Would he be the one to suggest the unthinkable? Thomas felt weak at the thought. Minho jerked his chin in the unconscious blonde's direction.

"He's just going to get worse."

And there it was.

Thomas swallowed the dread in his throat. To hear it aloud was somehow worse than the clawing desperation triggered by the thought. He looked down at Newt's face. He could feel the fever, Newt had grown steadily warmer as they had stood there, despite the cold water and freezing air.

"I know." Thomas said softly, reaching to brush the matted blonde curl from his forehead.

Newt mewed quietly under his touch, and it nipped at his heart like an over-eager puppy, sharp and unexpected.

"He's going to scream. A lot."

Thomas closed his eyes, feeling Minho's words closing his throat, stinging his eyes.

"I know."

"It's going to bring them running. It puts us all in danger."

His breath caught, and the guilt began to well. He opened his eyes, looking at Minho's indecipherable expression, his crossed arms. He looked down at Aris, saw the fear in the boy's huge green eyes.

He didn't want to put them in danger. It was almost a laughable thought when you took into consideration that that was the sole reason he'd been sent up. To kill or be killed. To win. And yet there it was between them. He didn't want to put them in harm's way. He swallowed, looking down at Newt's face again and feeling his heart lurching painfully at the pain written there. His chin was hot against Thomas's neck.

Ella.

Ella had been brave enough. She'd been strong enough to risk her life to show mercy. She'd ended it for him.

Thomas's heart was suddenly racing, his blood no longer feeling sluggish as it catapulted through his veins at a sudden speed that made him light-headed.

_Newt._

Newt was in pain.

He was in pain already and it was only going to get worse. It was going to burn its way through him. It was going to eat him up from the inside and when it was finished torturing him it was going to take away who he was.

It was going to take away what made Newt… Well, what made him _Newt_.

The wicked blue venom in his bloodstream was going to cause him unbearable pain. He was going to _suffer_ , really suffer, and Thomas was going to have to watch.

He was going to have to watch it happen, all the while knowing that at any second he could stop it for him. He could spare Newt from having to go through that.

He looked down at him, the air feeling full of anticipation, of the icy dread at what was to come and he looked at him and knew.

"I can't put you both in danger." he croaked out, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest and his eyes tracing every curve of Newt's face as he committed it all to memory like he had so many times before. "It wouldn't be right. He wouldn't- Newt wouldn't want you to get hurt because of him." he whispered.


	36. Chapter 36

Thomas struggled to meet Minho's gaze, suddenly completely unwilling to lift his eyes from Newt. Newt was beginning to fidget in his sleep again and Thomas wondered whether it was because he could hear them. Maybe not understand because of the state he was in, but perhaps he could hear that there were voices.

Or maybe he was already starting to lose ground to the venom.

Thomas wanted to be sick, as if the act would rid him of the suffocating terror. When he did look at Minho he felt his energy fading as though the boy's gaze was burning it up. He was just as he had been five minutes previously. He looked at Thomas with those dark blue eyes and his unreadable expression.

Thomas wondered suddenly what Minho thought of him, of them. Of this year's Gladers. It didn't matter, did it? Not for their survival. But he found that part of him was stupidly curious anyway. He shouldn't care whether Minho thought what he was doing was brave or stupid. He shouldn't care what Minho would do if their roles were reversed. He had to focus on the danger he was in. On the danger Newt was going to be forced to put him in.

"You're not going to, are you?"

Aris's voice was as soft as it always was, but there wasn't a tremble in it even as he hesitantly voiced the chilling question that was looping in Thomas's own head like a mantra. He looked up at Thomas with his round green eyes and Thomas felt a stinging in the back of his throat because there was simply no way Aris was the fourteen years that Thomas had pegged him for on the Training Days. He looked up at Thomas with the frightened gaze of a child who looked barely eleven.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have been sent up. It made everything worse knowing what shouldn't have happened had happened and that he could do nothing to prevent anything. He felt entirely useless, small and insignificant as he looked down at the little boy who was seeking reassurance that Thomas wouldn't, couldn't, kill Newt.

The unbidden thought that he had been avoiding - one of many - sprang to the forefront of his mind as he looked helplessly down at Aris's fragile expression.

_He wasn't going to be able to kill Aris if the situation called for it._

He had to get Newt out. He couldn't save them all. And knowing he wouldn't be able to hurt the kid only made it ten times worse because it meant knowing someone else was going to have to do it.

And Thomas couldn't let that happen either.

He swallowed hard as he felt the tears filling his eyes.

"No, he's not."

Minho answered for him and Thomas looked up. He was giving Thomas his heavy, calculating gaze again and Thomas felt himself beginning to buckle under the weight of it. Minho was right.

Thomas didn't have Ella's strength. He couldn't display the mercy she had.

He looked back down at Newt's pained face apologetically, shame welling hot and upsetting in his abdomen.

"You should go." he finally forced out, around the fear closing his throat.

"We should."

Minho's words landed hard on his skin even though he knew they were right. He couldn't free Newt of the dreadful torture to come and he couldn't let anyone else do it. The very best that he could do was let them go so that he didn't put them in any more danger than he could help.

"But… But i don't _want_ to."

Aris's voice made Thomas tense, he found he had no wall that he could put up, no defence against the younger boy's concern. He shook his head.

"You _have_ to. You'll get- You'll get hurt when the Careers come looking."

His voice was firm even though he felt shaky and weak. Aris's voice turned pleading.

"No! But-"

"I don't think he's going, Thomas." Minho commented, his tone as in decipherable as always.

In the Glade such a thing would have infuriated Thomas, his curiosity would have driven him mad until he could puzzle out the nuances, learn when Minho was being sarcastic and when he was serious because everything the boy said seemed a perpetual combination of the two. Had he always been that way? Or was it his way of dealing with the Games? If they had grown up in a district together would Minho have had less defences erected between him and the world?

"He has to. I can't make you take him. I can't even really _ask_ you to, but…"

He turned his gaze on the stoic older boy and couldn't find the words. He wanted them to stay so badly. He couldn't bear the thought of being alone when Newt went through what was coming. The thought made his chest feel cold and tight. But that was the Hunger Games, wasn't it? In the end you were on your own. He'd known that his whole life.

And yet some part of him rebelled still, refused to believe that was all they were to amount to.

Wishful thinking.

He wouldn't be alone. He had Newt. He'd promised himself he'd get the blonde through this and he had to have confidence that he could do it. But he'd grown so _used_ to the presence of Minho, of Aris. It was stupid and it was self-destructive and it was going to cause him pain and _soon_ but he couldn't deny it.

"I-"

He didn't have words. He felt woefully inept and useless and he just wanted Newt to _come back_ to him. He looked down at him. They had entered this just the two of them and Thomas would see it end that way. He _had_ to.

"We're going."

Minho's words were clipped, decided. Firm. And as much as Thomas wanted them to stay he felt relief. His shoulders sagged.

"Good."

"Come on."

Thomas was adjusting his grip on Newt's unconscious form when Minho took him from him. He started, panic sizzling through him like a gust of cold air in summer. Minho lifted him with little effort, one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees. Thomas watched in confusion as Minho turned towards the shore.

"Move your asses, shanks."

He followed automatically, feeling Aris's bewildered glances and unable to answer them. Minho led them to the shoreline by the trees, and Thomas stumbled as the water level dropped, his legs weak with exhaustion and the cold, his skin clammy and the sole of one foot throbbing tiredly as the lake bed gave way to the sandy dirt. He tripped on the sand and fell, his reflexes far to sluggish to catch him.

Something sharp jabbed at his ribs and he flinched, rolling away and tangling in something. He reached for the ground, trying to right himself as his body tried to find some form of balance. The water had changed his equilibrium and land had to be relearned. There was something taught under his fingers and the feeling shivered up his arm in a familiar manner.

 _His bow_.

He stumbled over their things on the beach. He'd forgotten all about them, presumed they'd been taken by the shadowy figures and in the panic of Newt's sting he'd forgotten to worry about things like water and food and weapons. As if in answer to the discovery his stomach rumbled.

"Aris?" He peered through the darkness for the boy. "Aris, our _shoes_."

"They're here." The kid's voice was warm and pleased, relieved.

Thomas allowed himself a smile as he found his shoes, sitting neatly next to Newt's just like they'd been left. He rolled his socks onto his numb feet, deciding that one of his heels had a gash in it that didn't like being touched. He gathered their packs and his quiver, weighing himself down and yet feeling lighter than he had for hours. He found Newt's jacket, and he clung to it as if it could make the upcoming process easier.

Okay.

Okay _breathe_.

He didn't have the energy left to argue when he discovered Minho's plan. He just took Newt back from him and let him get on with it, trying to hide the fact that he was secretly pleased underneath all the worry that piled up inside him.

Minho, being the shank that he so clearly was, had elected not to go anywhere. Aris grinned when he thought Thomas couldn't see, climbing his chosen tree for the night with a vigour he hadn't shown since…. Well Thomas couldn't remember. A day in the Arena felt like a week. Hours blurred and stretched like elastic and he could feel the air tense and threatening to snap at any given moment.

He gave Aris the sleeping bag and the big pack and the rope. Minho didn't take his own tree. Without any sort of explanation he followed Aris up the trunk, muttering under his breath things that sounded an awful lot like "Hurry up shuckface." and "Some time _today_ would be nice."

And Thomas… Thomas scouted the thick brush that wound between two very closely growing trees, finding a spot that seemed semi-sheltered to lay Newt down. They'd be utterly screwed if anyone came along but it was the very best he could do. It wasn't like he could drag him unconscious into the high branches where they'd be safer.

He didn't want to think about the fact that when the screaming and the thrashing started Newt would be in danger of knocking them both from their perch. Newt was already tossing and turning, albeit in small and tired movements. His skin was hot to the touch and his voice whimpered and murmured in ways that wrenched at Thomas's heart. Thomas did his best to pour water from their water bottle down his throat, thankful that Newt simply let him.

He put the pack on despite how uncomfortable it would be to sleep. If they were discovered they might need to move fast and…

_No.  
_ _Don't think about right now.  
_ _Focus on Newt._

_Get him through the night._

He settled on his side behind the whimpering blonde, curling an arm around Newt's slim waist and tucking the other under his neck, clutching his bow. He pulled him close, the heat rolling from him warding off the icy night air. And despite how that felt he wished it wasn't so.

He pressed a worried kiss to the back of Newt's neck and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. It might have been wishful thinking, because Newt wasn't supposed to be alert by now, but Thomas was almost certain that Newt pressed closer to him for comfort. He stroked the damp blonde hair and whispered soothing sounds against Newt's skin.

Thomas slid into an uneasy limbo. Not quite awake and yet not fully asleep he was plagued by shadows and frightening unseen monsters, far away voices screaming and shrieking. An uneasy and slimy feeling slithered around his insides, giving him goosebumps and the making the hair the back of his neck stand to attention.


	37. Chapter 37

The panic very nearly consumed him as he was thrown awake by the disastrous sound. He hurtled upright, gasping as his brain tried to compute what had happened. His head swung around, his senses flaring into a sharp and heightened state as he searched for danger. Newt grumbled plaintively in his sleep, his shoulder jerking harshly as he gasped out a pained groan. Somehow Thomas knew he'd been making the noises for a while. They'd been filtering through the uneasy doze he'd fallen into, hurting his heart even while he was asleep.

The air was only barely lighter than it had been at Midnight when they stood in the water. It wasn't bright like onset of dawn. Not even close. Why was the Canon going off? It could only have three hours, four at most since they had been given the nightly funereal display of the dead.

Why was the Canon going off?

His heart was racing out a staccato beat against his ribcage, his mind scattering his thoughts like snowflakes in a blizzard. He tightened his hold on Newt, the heat from him scorching despite the bitter chill in the air. The echo of the single Canon fire still rang in his ears.

_Why did the Canon go off?_

Newt moaned loud and desperate, and the noise yanked Thomas back to earth so hard his system jerked from the shock. _Newt_. Arena. Canon.

They'd been in the Arena nearly three full days. The death rate was slowing. The BloodBath was past and the weakest mostly eliminated. The Canon had blared through the air to signal a death. To alert them. To allow them to count, to keep track.

To signify that they were victorious so far.

Thomas curled back down against the fevered blonde by his side, tucking his nose against the curve of Newt's neck in a bid to stave off the sudden and compelling urge to vomit. He didn't feel very victorious at all. He felt like was in the process of losing the best and brightest thing in his life. His stomach roiled. He breathed in the familiar smell of his best friend and ached for home.

Newt's scent was acrid from fever, salty from sweat, tainted by the copper of blood and the weirdly blue lake they'd stood in for so long. But it was him, his same smell underneath, the comforting smell that Thomas associated with the field in the Glade just as much as he did the scent of cut grass or the heady lavender of summer.

Newt smelled like he always did, like warmth and friendship and _home_. Thomas tried to concentrate on that small relief, that small and yet important detail. And it worked. The feeling abated, his focused breathing slowing his heart. He curled his fingers between Newt's and pressed as close as he could, cradling him even though his touch sizzled uncomfortably on his skin.

He pressed soft kisses against Newt's skin, his hair. To soothe himself or Newt he didn't know, but it was calming him down. The anxiety settled back into the familiar constant he had carried for the last few days and he sighed into Newt's matted curls, listening to the reinstated quiet of the forest. Newt moaned, his hand flexing and clenching. His back arched and he loosed a sob that threatened to shake Thomas's hold on his emotions.

"… _hurrrrrtsssssss….."_

Thomas wished he could take away the pain. He'd take it himself if he had a way to do so. He brushed his fingers over Newt's cheek, trailing his fingers against the burning of his skin.

"Fuck, Newt. Sshh, hey. Hey, it's okay, Newt. It's okay buddy. _Shit_. I- I wish you were okay." he whispered, trying to give flight to the restless and heavy pain in his heart. "I wish you'd get better. I wish there was something i could _do_."

His thumb stroked tender circles on the back of the fever-mottled hand as he closed his eyes again, focusing on the strained breaths of the boy in his arms and trying hard to ignore the awakening desperation that choked his veins. The breaths were harsh and uncomfortable but every one was a reassurance that Newt was alive still. The grasp of restless sleep was gone for good, and Thomas tucked his cheek against Newt's hair and looked up through the darkness to the starless sky.

Newt needed it. _They_ needed it. They needed help. He couldn't lose Newt, he _couldn't_.

He simply couldn't imagine a world that didn't include the optimistic, soft-hearted and caring blonde. His entire body trembled in refusal at the thought.

He'd get Newt through this. He'd send him home to Sonya and it'd be one on the side of his district. The Capitol could go and _fuck themselves_. They couldn't have him, Thomas wouldn't let them. He'd show them exactly how wrong they were for putting the boy he loved in danger.

But more importantly he'd _send Newt home_. He'd keep him safe.

He remembered the ratty-looking man's plans, the private chats he'd had with Newt. Thomas hadn't pried. He knew his friend would tell him if he needed to know, would share if he was planning on actually doing anything the man wanted him to. Janson had given them both loose commands, told them to play their given characters and tug on heart-strings and although they'd pretty much disregarded his words Thomas was reminded of his promises and the way he had seemed delighted when Newt had…

Newt had told the whole of Panem he pretty much loved Thomas. The whole of _shucking Panem_. He was the bravest, strongest person Thomas knew. He'd been at his side since they met, refusing to let Thomas shut him out with the rest of the world when loss became too big a part of his life. He'd gotten Thomas through everything. Thomas would get him through this. He felt the tears brimming as he was staring up at the sky.

"Janson." he whispered, feeling stupid, his expression squirming as he tried not to cry. "Janson _please_." His breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes closed as he felt his heart breaking again, all over again as though it hadn't already been shattered enough.

" _Please._ He has to survive. He _has_ to. I can't-"

_I can't make it without him._

"I can't watch him die. _Please_."

 _I won't survive it_.

"He- he means so much- _I love him_."

His voice bent and broke, and he turned his face into the comfort of Newt's familiar blonde hair. The knowledge that he was being watched by the world like a lab rat in a cage - that unless something more interesting was happening elsewhere everyone in his district was quite possibly watching him break down - became such a small and insignificant fact.

He cried as quietly as he could, the cold and shuddering sobs of the broken and desperate. He cried until he couldn't breathe and continued to cry and somewhere during the outpouring he slipped into sleep, his fingers tight on Newt and the boy's unconscious whimpers answering his own.

Newt began screaming as dawn broke.

Thomas got up with a dark resignation forming like a stone in his stomach. He brushed the sweat-slicked fringe from the face of the thrashing, shrieking boy and placed a hard kiss on his cheek. He whispered how much he loved him in his ear. He ignored the fear, the pain of knowing.

He checked the string on his bow, slipping an arrow into his grip. He started Day Four in the Arena by crouching with his back to a tree near his fellow Glader, his face serious and his heart rate remarkably steady despite the adrenaline waking every nerve in his body.

Somewhere in the Arena another voice was screaming just as desperately, and yet the guttural howling tearing itself from Newt's throat was so much worse. He hoped Aris would stay where he was. Thomas slotted the arrow against the string and cocked his head to listen.

 _Here we go_.


	38. Chapter 38

The sun was up. The day was heating already and Thomas ached all over from crouching so tensely. Newt had screamed himself hoarse, barely stopping to breathe. The constant and jarring noise had Thomas's head pounding and his skin itching. It was like listening to the wails of a dying animal, and Thomas had only hope to help him fend off the thought that that's what this was.

At one point Newt's eyes had opened and he'd dragged in a long breath, his eyes hazy and his shoulders twisting as he'd tried to sit up. He hadn't tried for long and when his head hit the moss again his neck arched, baring the tense muscles of his throat as he screamed Thomas's name.

Thomas had let the tears fall, afraid that if he moved to wipe them he'd someone finding them. There was a dark bubble of fear living within him and he was already exhausted from fighting it. There had been several voices screaming out in the Arena and Thomas didn't want to think about how hoarse and terrified they sounded.

They seemed to be using their voices up one by one and falling quiet like Newt had, the screams overlapping and mingling or crying out on their own in a lonely call for the pain to stop.

He thought there was no sound worse than that. One voice was howling now. It sounded very far away, shrill and distinctly feminine. His brain had counted the different voices without permission, knowledge he knew he would be better of not knowing. His ears picked out four, five voices if he counted Newt.

And he _always_ counted Newt.

He thought there couldn't be any noise worse than the agonising screams of the stung.

Until the voice cut off abruptly and a barren silence descended.

And then the Canon went off.

Thomas kept his eyes on the shaky rise and fall of Newt's chest after that, terrified that the blare of the awful Canon would take him away. Minho left his tree and came to sit by Thomas, wordlessly tugging him from his crouch and manhandling him into a sitting position. Thomas's muscles screeched and throbbed in protest but he allowed the asian boy to push him down.

He was so fucking tired and edgy, like he'd stayed up two days straight on too much caffeine. Minho passed him a water bottle, made him drink from it. He handed him a familiar, crinkly object. When Thomas blinked down at it in curiosity he recognised it to be an energy bar. He tried to give Minho a grateful smile, but he wasn't sure his mouth followed his command. Minho barely glanced at him, his dark blue gaze settling on Newt instead.

"You were friends before the Arena."

It wasn't really a question when Minho commented later, as noon was rolling around and Thomas was picking at the second half of the energy bar.

He'd halved it automatically, remembering belatedly that Newt wasn't sharing with him. In his head the semi-circle of energy had already been labelled for the blonde and Thomas was reluctant to eat it even though his awakened stomach would prefer he did.

"Yeah."

"Dangerous."

Thomas nodded.

"Yeah, you said." he sighed, his nail halving a crumb and then again, and again until it was too tiny to spear any further.

"You didn't listen."

Thomas snorted, resting his head back against the tree trunk as he looked over at his fellow Glader.

"By the time you came along it was too late. Hell, by the time they called his name it was too shucking late. Years too late."

Minho was his quiet self again, something Thomas was coming to think of as familiar. Comforting. They were quiet until Aris finally climbed down from his branch. The kid was subdued and red from heat, his dark mop of hair slick and disheveled from sweat. He made his way over, and Minho tossed him an energy bar as he dropped his small form on Thomas's other side. It earned him a flash of grateful green eyes, a shy smile.

Thomas sat between their allies as Aris ate and leaned into his side and Minho played with one of his knives. He tossed it from hand to hand, he flipped it handle-over-tip and caught it every time. The game made Thomas edgy and yet at the same time it was comforting to see. He folded up the foil and put the half-eaten bar in his pocket.

"Thanks."

Minho nodded, flicking him a level glance.

"It was my turn to share, shank."

It could have been his imagination, but Thomas would swear he saw something in Minho's look, something that signified he was saying more than that, in his own way. Thomas wanted to know why the boy stuck around, and at the same time he wondered whether Minho was the type who would leave if he questioned it. Besides, the truce between them was simultaneously easy and complicated.

He kept watch with Minho. He cradled Newt to give him water. He retreated bad from the blonde reluctantly, convincing himself that with the heat in the Arena his presence would only feed the boy's fever. He talked quietly with Aris, telling him the things the boy asked about. Things about Newt, about their life in the Glade. Minho listened and they all pretended he didn't.

Thomas had never thought he'd be the type to spill to practical strangers. He barely managed to open up to the people he knew in his district. And with Newt he never really had to go through the process of baring his should when he needed to. Newt just… _knew._

It was after noon. The worrying in Thomas's stomach returned with Newt's screaming, and he returned to his crouch because that was what he needed to do. He readied his bow and Aris climbed a few feet into the tree behind him with the hopes of being able to spot anyone coming.

Newt's thrashing was worse that time. He shrieked and growled, sharp and pained sounds as he wreathed in the moss, his limbs flailing in a disorganised and self-destructive manner. Thomas had been sure to coil the boy away from tree roots so that when this exact situation occurred he wouldn't bang his head.

Newt screamed and screamed and screamed and when he stopped he moaned out loud instead, crying pitifully. He didn't wake up, he didn't seem conscious at all. Thomas had bitten his tongue with every cry, unable to say the things he wanted to when Aris and Minho were there. Every time Newt cried out for Thomas Aris would send him a sympathetic glance Thomas would pretend he couldn't see. Minho sat a little closer.

When the girl came they caught her by surprise. She was on her own, obviously assuming the owner of the voice she'd followed, Newt's voice, would be too.

 _Cinnamon_ , he'd named her. The memory of Newt's laughter was stilted in his ears and he met her eyes before he could stop himself. She had a spear in her hand, a knife handle on her belt. Her eyes were pale brown and met Thomas's gaze with a flash of uncertainty. She didn't stay undecided for very long and when Thomas tackled her Minho was right behind. His hands slid on her face as she struggled, her knee catching his inner thigh and jolting pain through his whole body. He clamped his hands over her mouth to cut off the yelling he could feel hit his fingers.

Their knives made her eyes dull, and her blood didn't so much gush as fall from the wounds. It seemed it had accepted her fate before her voice got the memo. She died fairly quickly and Thomas got off of her as quickly as he could. Minho, as always, was unreadable.

Thomas had named her Cinnamon. It had made Newt laugh. Minho told him her parents had called her Beth.


	39. Chapter 39

Aris wiped at the redness splashed across Thomas's face and arms as Thomas stared again at the rise and fall of Newt's chest. Silent for now. He was almost sure he was in shock. Aris rubbed the piece of damp fabric across Thomas's skin quietly. Thomas hadn't asked him to, hadn't noticed the boy leave the tree again. He hadn't remembered to tell Aris to look away. Why hadn't he remembered?

They'd killed her, right there. Minho had dragged her body far enough away from them for the Hovercraft to take her. Thomas didn't hear the Canon blare but he knew it had. He remembered her fighting with the girl they'd named _Braids_. He remembered the way she'd spun, ducked and wove in a practiced fashion. She hadn't had any time to put that in to play before Thomas had thrown himself at her. He sat against his tree and breathed in and out. Blinking required more focus than he could be bothered finding. Minho sat beside him again and cleaned their knives.

It would have been dinner time at home when their next visitor arrived. This one managed to reach their presence undetected, floating down from the sky and glinting in the light. Thomas and Minho noticed it at the same time, their heads turning in unison. When Minho reached for it it darted out of reach as though shifted by a breeze that wasn't there.

It floated down and alighted delicately on the moss in front of Thomas. He stared at it, resting there like a tube of mercury in the dark green of the forest floor. It was a silvery cylinder. And it had dangled from the thin strings of a parachute of pale grey cloth.

He stared at it, blinking in surprise. The gears in his head jammed and creaked.

In the end it was Aris who lifted it up, who handed it tentatively over. It was Aris who slipped his hand into Thomas's much larger one and squeezed. It was Aris who looked up at him and gave him a dazzling smile, so bright and unexpected that Thomas looked back at the silvery tube.

In the end it was Aris who had to open the top for him, and it was Aris who gently shook the glass-and-metal object into his cupped hands.

 _A syringe_.

It was _a syringe_. The glass was clear and Thomas could see the contents lapping as his hand trembled. There were tiny black lines on the glass, looping cursive that his brain didn't want to focus on because in his hand he held _a syringe_.

Antidotes came in glass syringes, didn't they?

"Be sure to hit what you're aiming for."

Thomas looked up at the kid's voice and saw his wide eyes, saw the little white slip of curled paper.

"It's the only way you'll achieve Bliss."

 _It was the antidote_.

A whole shot of it, beyond expensive. It didn't escape him how much he held in his palms, the worth of the token. Janson had come through. They either had an awful lot of dedicated sponsors or some very, very rich ones. Thomas looked up, the sky bright with the energy and light of the day.

When he tried to smile this time it came easily, shaky and raw. He didn't care that Minho and Aris saw him.

" _Thank you_."

He looked back at it in awe, afraid to breathe too much incase he broke it open.

"Well, shuckface? You gonna use it or sit around looking like a dumb klunk-ass crank?"

Minho was right, and Thomas crawled to Newt's side, brushed his fingers over one scarlet, searing cheek and gave the familiar chapped mouth a swift kiss. He took a breath to steady himself.

The blue of Newt's veins were so easy to pick out that it made him feel vaguely sick. He slid the sharp point of the needle into the pale skin and hesitated. The latest in a long list of worries awoke and stretched out its deadly claws to pluck at his heart.

"Go on. He needs it."

He met the determined green eyes and wondered if Aris knew.

He thought that he probably did, and the knowledge that the kid might still be hoping so fervently made Thomas's heart swell. The longer the kid was around the more like Chuck Thomas found him to be, and the more it hurt to know he was in the Arena. His vivid green eyes watched Thomas as he placed his thumb on the plunger, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard it had gone white. His heart thumped painfully. Aris was so very obvious. His hope and trepidation was written across his face as clearly as though it had been inked there.

Because what he had been deliberately avoiding thinking about, yet another fear he had forced from his mind was that the Antidote, the aptly nicknamed _Bliss_ , was _not always effective_.

Just like the burning venom it negated, it affected everyone differently. There were people, albeit a very small percentage of the world's population, who were Immune. It meant that no matter how _quickly_ the antidote was given, no matter how _much_ of the unjustly expensive serum they received, no matter their status or age or how _unfair_ their situation was it wouldn't help them.

 **** _5%  
_ Statistics would average two of the tributes put in the Arena that year were Immune.  
It was enough of a possibility to give him pause.

Thomas cried frightened tears as he pushed the little plunger down, as he watched the liquid trapped beneath the glass disappear under his best friend's skin. He withdrew the needle with a wince, his eyes apologetic even though Newt couldn't see. He sat back. He tried to stop his hands from shaking as his grip found Newt's fever-heated fingers. And he _hoped_. He hoped so desperately hard it hurt, so hard he felt he'd never feel any other emotion.

Thomas held his breath and his brain began to count against his will. He squeezed his eyes shut and he _hoped_. He hoped against all hope and _everything_ he feared that Newt was not Immune.

His heart stuttered its way inelegantly through precisely two hundred and fifty full beats before the blare of the Death Canon rent the air.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologise for the way you've had to suffer through the last few Chapters.  
> It was painful to write and harder to proof-read and i want to say how grateful i am for your comments and to continuing readers i'd like to thank, for taking the hurt and still coming back to read on.
> 
> I'm really hopeful that this Chapter will be what a lot of you are looking for.  
> Happy Reading!

The world stopped.

There was no sound, no _air_ as Thomas's eyes snapped open. He could feel the sudden and fierce clutch of insanity welling up like water from his toes, intent on drowning him. He looked down at Newt's slack face, at the way he had stilled.

"No…."

Thomas's voice had shattered. His fingers reached numbly for Newt's chest. This wasn't happening. It couldn't- _No_.

"Newt- _No,_ no, no, no, no _NO!"_

There wasn't any air. The heat of the Arena had left him and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _feel_. The world was beginning to crumble at the edges like unstable cliff tops. Grief and oblivion lapped angrily at the bottom of the drop.

Newt couldn't be _gone_! He _couldn't_!

He pushed the blonde curls from his face. Was his skin a little less hot? Thomas's heart was flying in his chest, hard and painful. It was going to give up at this rate he- _Newt_.

He fumbled for the older boy's wrist, a hesitant hand on his chest. He couldn't breathe.

 _No_.

Aris was talking, words a stream of noise that Thomas couldn't understand. Newt. Newt wasn't moving. Newt was still and quiet, he- the _Canon_ had-

"No. _No_. Newt, _please_ man! D-Don't do this to me! No! _Newt!_ "

His voice was rising as his vision blurred, and there was a hand on his shoulder but he jerked away. Words, people were talking. Somewhere, somewhere, a tribute was screaming again and Thomas wished with all his heart that it was Newt, because at least then he wouldn't be-

"Please! _Please!_ "

He couldn't even say the word in his own head. Newt couldn't be. He just- It'd be like the world losing the sunshine. Newt wasn't supposed to go _now_!

"Newt- please. Say something, say _anything_ , you can't- you can't go! _Please_!"

 _No_.

"… in the first six hours."

Minho. Minho was saying something and it was dragging Thomas back into reality. _No_. Words, more words. That hand on his shoulder again. He didn't have enough control of his limbs to jerk away.

"…late. I don't think that it's supposed to be effective after…"

His head was on Newt's chest and Minho's words had broken through. He was sobbing now, the air was back and he could feel the burning heat of the Arena, of Newt, of the loss blazing through his cells. He'd never felt grief like this. Not when he was younger, not when his family died one by one and not when Chuck had died such a short time after leaving their Glade.

He'd never truly thought he could lose Newt.

He was a constant. The shining hope in Thomas's life, a _part_ of Thomas that he couldn't do without. He felt the fight leaving him, hopelessness setting in. What was he fighting for now if it wasn't Newt?

Where was the point now?

"Thomas. Thomas you have to be quiet. Thomas! Shut your shuck hole right now!"

Minho. Thomas blinked and heaved in a breath. He hadn't realised he had been making any noise. The screaming from somewhere else stopped, and as Thomas swallowed past his raw throat he realised it had been _him_.

"Better. Now sit up."

His hands curled tightly in the fabric of Newt's shirt. He couldn't sit up, he couldn't _leave_ the only thing in his life that had any meaning. The insanity was dragging claws through his veins, the crumbling eating away the edges of his world. He was so close to giving up and just succumbing to it. He was going to drown. His own voice was moaning in his ears but he had no control.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no…."

His breaths were fleeting, suffocating. He couldn't see for tears. Hysteria was approaching at speed. His skin was clammy, his head swimming. He was almost certain he was going to be sick. His hands were clutching at the blonde's shirt, spasming harshly. He'd lost control, he hadn't been _fast_ enough and he'd- he'd-

He'd lost _Newt_.

"No, no _please!_ I can't, i can't- I can't lose you. I can't do this without you."

He buried his face in Newt's neck as he cried, aching desperately for the pressure of the blonde's arms around him. He held him tightly but the embrace was not returned. Newt's arms stayed where they were, limp at his sides. He could' believe it. He'd-

He'd never thought it was _possible_.

He'd been sure he could keep Newt safe, protect him from the others and from the GameMakers.

And he'd failed.

"I'm sorry." he choked out, a strangled whisper. "God Newt i'm so sorry. _I love you_. Please don't leave. Please, please don't- I can't, man. I can't-"

He was going to pass out. He was going to curl up and die. He was going to kill every GameMaker. He didn't know how, but he would. He'd make them understand what they'd done. He'd make them pay. He- _Newt_ didn't deserve this. He was so happy, so hopeful, so _kind_ and Thomas had been too late.

 _Too late_.

"He's breathing."

Aris.

Aris. It was the kid that dragged him up, just like that. Saved him from drowning. He lifted his head. Aris was smiling, his tearful green eyes trained on the hand Thomas had on Newt's chest. He was sniffling. They both stared, silence falling between them as they watched. Aris was eager, and Thomas was terrified. If Aris was wrong he was going to slip right back into the pit of grief that awaited him. He didn't think his heart even beat while they held their breath and waited.

 _And it rose_.

Something strong blasted through Thomas's system. Every vein, every cell, every atom of him _sung_. Aris chuckled. A soft, relieved sound. Thomas wanted to join him but he couldn't move. He just _stared_ as Newt's chest fell. And rose again.

 _Newt was alive_.

The air came back into the world so hard it made Thomas's ears pop. And then he was gasping and choking; stilted, aborted sounds as his body tried to work out how to function again. He cried. He cried so much he wondered if it was possible to cry himself to death. Aris was rubbing his back, his small hand circling and his voice filling the quiet space with quiet words. Words Thomas couldn't focus on because the rise and fall of Newt's chest had taken over every sense.

It was weak. It was shallow and fragile but it was _there_.

Thomas was weak with it, his muscles jellylike as the world readjusted and heralded the heartbeat he felt under his fingers. The Arena was hot and Thomas was sweating heavily and he could barely steady his hands but he had never felt better in his life.

"Newt."

It said everything he needed it to. If Newt could hear he'd understand what Thomas wasn't saying. He sighed, slumping bonelessly against the blonde once more, hearing his heart beating in his chest and feeling his skin cooling slowly.

It was working, the serum was _working_ and Newt was going to get better.

_He was going to get better._

"Harriet's out there, and you can bet she's going to come looking for Beth. Shank is good at what she does. We gotta get moving."

Minho again. Minho was there, in his space. He was- What was he _doing_? No! No wait!

"No, _Minho_ -"

Minho was taking Newt from him again and the hysteria that had been at bay was threatening Thomas again. He reached for Newt, half-crouched, his fingers clutching at the blonde. Minho made an irritated noise, adjusting the limp form in his arms as he took him out of Thomas's reach. The Glader scrambled after him, trying to get to his feet. Minho was saying words but Thomas was too desperate to see Newt was still breathing. What if moving him made it worse? What if- He needed time to recover. He shouldn't be getting trailed about.

"Minho, please-"

"The bow. Thomas _move_ your shuck-ass and pick up your bow."

He couldn't look away, even as his fingers scrambled numbly for his bow. A hand on his wrist was pushing the smooth and familiar handle into his hand. Aris. The kid was helping him up. Fingers curled in his sleeve. Tugging him forwards as he stumbled in his daze, his eyes locked on the limp body in Minho's arms again.


	41. Chapter 41

Thomas followed Minho in a daze. His head was spinning and he just wanted to curl up with Newt beside him. He wanted to watch him _breathe_. He wanted to make sure his fever went down, wanted to make sure he was okay. Every moment he was unable to see him made the sharp ache in his chest throb.

Aris had him by the hand, guiding him along as his mind spun and danced. He didn't even realise they'd stopped until Aris put his other hand on Thomas's arm and led him over to the trunk of a large tree. He blinked, dazed. The trees looked oddly familiar, and for a second Thomas thought he was back in the Glade. He was more disappointed than he had any right to be when he realised that wasn't the case.

He belonged to the Arena now. He'd never see his district again. He'd never see the field, he'd never climb another one of their trees. He'd never have dinner with Mary again or watch Newt drop gracefully down beside him in the long grass, the summer sunshine giving him a halo. He closed his eyes against the bite of pain.

They were back where they'd spent those first two nights, by the far away slope. He didn't open his yes until he felt a pressure against his side. _Newt_. Minho had lain him down beside Thomas, and Thomas took a moment just to _look_ at him.

He was flushed and red and drenched in sweat, his hair clumped and sticking up all over and his skin was clammy and his breathing still shallow and yet Thomas couldn't have been happier to see him, because he was still breathing and when he touched the pale forehead he found it cooler than it had been in over a day.

"You're lucky we're here. You shanks would be dead by now."

Thomas sighed in response, curling down on the forest floor beside Newt. He pushed the blonde fringe back from his face and traced his thumb down the curve of his cheek, the side of his nose.

"Going for water. If you want any you better give me your bottles."

Thomas mumbled something about his pack, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy keeping his eyes on Newt in case… Well. In case. He felt Aris unzipping the pack he was still wearing, and remembered he'd given the kid the smaller one too. He hadn't even complained. He'd taken it and he'd helped Thomas and he'd done nothing but do what he was told and silently support the older boys.

What kind of monsters would throw a kid like that into this hellhole?

"Thanks Aris."

Aris hummed in response.

"You coming or what, Kid? I wanna get back some time _today_."

Thomas listened to them leaving, quiet footsteps in the undergrowth. Someone was screaming again across the Arena, and Thomas knew he should feel something but right then he couldn't. He was exhausted, and Newt had had a close call and Thomas just wanted to _be_. He wanted to lie there and breathe and feel Newt beside him where he should be.

Was that so much to ask? To just be left alone to _live_?

He dozed, slotted protectively beside Newt. The older boy had stopped mumbling and groaning as well as screaming, and he responded to Thomas's touch by making himself smaller and nuzzling further into his arms. He sighed when Thomas kissed his face and although he was still flushed he slept soundly.

When the other came back Thomas got up, swapping Minho a handful of water tablets for their two water bottles. He fussed over Newt, coaxing his sleepy friend to drink half a bottle and using a little to wash the fever sweat from his skin. He was definitely cooling down, and Thomas was touched at Aris's relief when he told him. Even Minho smiled, though he pretended he was doing so at his knife.

Minho passed them another energy bar each, cutting off Thomas's protests by showing him he had several in his pack. He'd scavenged at the centre when he'd left them. He thought the Careers were keeping an eye on it due to the speed in which he'd been attacked. That's when he'd killed Adam. Thomas listened and filed away everything Minho told him about the Arena.

The asian boy still hadn't headed into the sandy section despite his obvious intent to check out the whole Arena, the allure of the buildings making him curious. Thomas had to admit it made him fiercely curious too, and he'd wanted to investigate for days. But the lack of trees swayed his thoughts every time. Here in the forest they had places to hide, and a source of food.

The sand-scorched area was an unknown quantity. It was interesting but frightening and if they got caught out there they'd be at a much bigger disadvantage to the Careers than if they could hide in the trees and use the bow.

When the light faded and the cool night air kicked in Thomas was able to put Newt's jacket on him, and wriggled the boy into the sleeping bag. He still couldn't risk the trees because Newt was still unconscious, but he was hopeful the by the next night Newt would be awake again. He missed him. He missed his laughter and his frown and his stares and his jokes. He missed his curse-words and his smile and the way that he would brush against Thomas and make him feel like he'd done something so much bigger.

He wanted Newt back.

In the end he tucked Aris into the sleeping bag with Newt again, feeling guilty to keep the kid on the forest floor where they were easy target, but unable to make himself send him into the treetop without some form of heat. The kid curled between them and between the three of them they found a way to make it work. Thomas carded his fingers slowly through Newt's hair, loving the way the blonde relaxed under his touch. Aris was asleep in moments, and Thomas wasn't far behind.

He wasn't as surprised as he thought he'd be when he heard Minho rustling in the darkness of the pre-dawn. He watched the boy roll his sleeping bag and check his knives, and despite the fact that Minho was _still_ a tribute they should be wary of he didn't fear the way the boy stood with a knife in his hand. Minho looked over and gave Thomas an almost smile. It was wry and sharp like always but Thomas could see it in his eyes.

If they'd been thrown together outside of the Arena Minho thought they'd be friends. Thomas understood why he was going. He still wished he wasn't, but he understood. He nodded to him and Minho busied himself gathering the last of his stuff. Thomas fought the melancholy feeling. It sucked, but this was how the Arena worked. They were enemies. It would only make it worse in the end if they tried to claim otherwise.

"Coulda killed us in our sleep." he tried to joke, and although the attempt fell flat Minho chuckled.

"It's better i hope the Careers get you so i don't have to." he grinned, his eyes flashing.

Thomas laughed as quietly as he could, knowing it was ridiculous to find such deadly words funny and yet unable not to. He had grown incredibly fond of Minho and his sassy quips, his deadpan humour and level-head. In different circumstances he was almost certain they'd have been close friends. It was just another act of cruelty for the Games to have crashed their lives together the way they had.

"Gee, Minho. You almost sound like you care." he shot back.

Minho just chuckled, shaking his head as he turned away. Thomas watched him as he made his way almost out of sight. When he looked back over his shoulder at Thomas his smile was wry.

"I'd hate to go upsetting that blonde of yours."

And then he was gone.


	42. Chapter 42

Thomas was beginning to feel hungry by the time Aris woke up. He sat up and yawned, rubbing at his eyes before he looked around. His hair was tousled, giving him an innocent and youthful look that made Thomas feel queasy. He liked this kid. He liked him a lot. Aris frowned, looking around again before his shoulders fell. The round emerald eyes met his and Thomas smiled sadly.

"I wish he'd stayed." Aris murmured, dropping his gaze to the zip of the sleeping bag as he tried to extract himself without jostling Newt.

Thomas sighed.

"Yeah, buddy. Me too."

Aris sighed too, wriggling over to sit next to Thomas as he re-zipped the sleeping bag back up. They sat quietly for a while, watching the dawn slowly brighten up the trees around them, feeling the morning move into being. Day Number Five. They passed the nearly empty water bottle between them, and Thomas was grateful for the second one resting in his pack because he was feeling incredibly thirsty. Eventually he grew tired of sitting still, nervous energy irritating his skin.

It was when he stood up and stretched that Thomas realised two things.

One was that his heel, the one with the gash cutting across it, was incredibly unhappy to be standing up. The other was that the temperature in the Arena wasn't climbing as the darkness disappeared. He shifted his weight to his good foot with a wince, but he couldn't deny how good it felt that he wasn't burning hot already. The heat of the previous days had made him irritable and they had _all_ felt sluggish and lethargic sweating out in the forest.

The only thing dampening the relief in his gut was the thought that the GameMakers had probably realised that tributes had less energy to kill each other with if it was being drained from them by the heat. The lack of scorching heat was indeed good for them, but would be just as good for their enemies too. Thomas paced around their tiny clearing to clear his head and loosen his muscles, content to do so for a while. He refused to think that Minho might have the right idea exploring because he was suddenly feeling restless and edgy, more so than usual.

Exploring would do them no good, at least not till Newt was up and about and strong enough to hold his own again. It hadn't escaped Thomas how long it had been since the blonde had eaten, the energy bar from Minho that Thomas had put aside for Newt feeling heavy in his pocket as his own stomach griped. He'd eaten the half he'd been saving when Minho had given him the second, keeping the sealed one for when his fellow Glader awoke.

He'd need to hunt pretty soon though. It had been relatively easy until now, but Thomas was suddenly struck by the realisation that they hadn't startled any duck-like birds in a long time. They would need to move as soon as possible. He could only hope Newt would wake soon because the thought of leaving him was just sickening. Thomas knew that even without the dreaded heat by nightfall they'd be in need of water once more.

"When will he wake up?" Aris asked, drawing Thomas's attention from where he'd been glaring daggers at a nearby tree.

The kid was looking at him with those round green eyes, biting his bottom lip. Thomas felt the familiar lurching as he yet again realised how _young_ Aris was. Thomas forced himself to sit down, his fingers finding Newt's hair automatically as Aris shifted against his side. Thomas sighed, wishing he could switch his brain off to escape from all the burning thoughts and worries and fears that plagued him.

"Hopefully soon." he answered, brushing one stray curl behind his district-mate's ear. "By nightfall, if we're lucky."

Newt made a soft almost-whine, his head turning against Thomas's touch and making Thomas's heart thump hard. It was a good side. The blonde was responding to him, at least on some level aware that Thomas was there. It made it just a little bit easier to breathe. The antidote was working and the venom was leaving Newt's veins slowly but surely.

He _was_ going to get better. Thomas just had to keep hold of that thought.

_NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN_

She bit back a growl as she yanked her foot back from the tangle she'd gotten it into. At this rate she was going to get caught.

At this rate she was going to get _killed_.

With a determined breath she threw her weight upwards, her fingers catching the edge above her and mild pain tingling from the tightness of her grip. She hauled her feet up, praying to anybody listening that she didn't tangle again. She didn't think she'd find the fall very pleasant, considering how painful it had been the first time.

For a heavy second her foot caught and she hung there, shoulders straining and certain she was going to fall. But by some miracle her trainers didn't catch, and she was able to slot them into the next loops of the rope-net, digging her fingertips into strange rough metal of the next level.

She relaxed marginally when she succeeded in hooking her knee over and securing the majority of her weight on the platform. The rucksack on her back was a weight she was always forgetting to compensate for, and it would have pulled her down if it had been any heavier.

Brenda let herself breathe once she was safely away from the edge, lying flat on the uneven metal panel and trying to listen. There was a definite feeling of morning in the air, and the sky above their Arena was lightening.

Day Five, her mental calendar announced without prompt. It felt like it had been weeks. She sighed, wishing she could lie there and take a nap. But she'd get caught, surely. And the Careers seemed incredibly irritably since their leaders had been killed. She looked at the metal by her nose, her eyes crossing as she focused on the rough surface and remembered the metal in the junkyard at home, where her father used to take her to explore. She delt her eyes welling up as she was reminded she would never see it again.

Hope was a powerful thing, even for people who knew they were never going to make it. But Brenda knew, knew as she had from the moment they had called her name, that she was never going to make it. It didn't matter who the others were. She just didn't have it in her.

Hell, when Thomas had turned to look at her in the BloodBath she had been _grateful_. Relieved it was going to be him. She still couldn't get over what he'd done, the rucksack on her back a constant reminder. He could have killed her. She'd have let him, and yet he hadn't. And that exact reason was how she knew she'd never make it. Because what Thomas had done was remind her who they were. Who he was. Who she was.

She was a Glader, and she just didn't have it in her to kill. Not if it was other people like Thomas. Not if it was kids. They had several this year, most of them dead now. Little things that had no right being somewhere so dangerous. Brenda was reminded of Chuck, and how devastating his loss had been to her district the year before. Poor Thomas had been close to him, and she had watched him take the little boy's death hard.

She sat up, moving to the back of the little semi-room the structure created carefully. She swung her pack down and opened the zip, looking over the pile of supplies scattered over the metal flooring. She picked up a knife to replace the one she'd lost yesterday, running from a dark-skinned girl with braids in her hair and blood in her eyes. Lying in the corner was a sleeping bag, something she'd been grateful to have one of already. She picked over the food items, taking what she needed and felt she could carry, stumbling across a little metal jar filled with a sticky pink substance that smelled almost floral.

She wasn't certain what it was, but it smelled somehow familiar, like the way she remembered her mother smelling when she was really young. She put it in the front pocket, sure the purpose of such a thing would come to her when she least expected it. When she had filled her rucksack as much as she dared she sat with her back against the wood wall and opened a little tin from the pile, feeling almost tearful to find diced fruit inside.

She really had to get it together. Crying at everything was just going to tire her out like it had the first two days, and the Arena was getting more dangerous the further the numbers dwindled. She couldn't afford to get caught having a break-down. She listened to dawn sounds as she ate as slowly as she could, savouring the juice and syrup combination. She'd filled her water bottle during the night and would be good till tomorrow if she was careful.

As the Arena began to lighten properly Brenda sighed. It seemed her respite was at an end. She'd be a sitting duck if any of the Careers came back before she reached the ground. She didn't know where they went at night, or if they were hiding in the Maze or not, but during the day they almost always returned to the centre. At least, the ones who weren't out hunting. She felt sick at the thought, and pushed it from her mind as she tossed her pack over one shoulder and readied herself for the climb down.

She'd gotten pretty good at traversing the rope nets of the odd structure, and if it hadn't been for the Careers marking out the supply-strewn centre as their turf, she'd probably be spending most of her time there because she was light enough to reach the top pretty easily, and it gave her a hiding place and shelter. Not to mention it being the only food source around. The thought of Careers with knives and spears and bows, however, was less tempting.

She'd just secured her footing on the second level down when she heard the whispering, and it almost made her lose her balance. She tumbled forward onto the metal with a bump that might not have really been as loud as it felt, considering there was no answering cries from the tributes who sounded so close by.

She pressed against one wooded wall and held her breath, feeling her heart racing and adrenaline whizzing through her veins. It was quiet again as she strained her ears.

Surely she hadn't imagined the whispered voice? She was almost certain she'd heard it. Brenda blinked and listened for some very long moments, every passing second feeding the dread growing in her stomach. She had to get moving, and _now_. If she didn't get down and back to the sands she was totally _shucked_.


	43. Chapter 43

The silence was almost deafening. It took Brenda an embarrassingly long moment to realise that the birdsong had stopped. There wasn't even a peep from the wind, sending a creeping chill up her spine. It felt a lot like anticipation, and Brenda breathed carefully as she awaited it.

Whatever _it_ was.

Her legs were stiff and beginning to tingle with needles when Brenda discovered _it_ to be voices. She had almost convinced herself that she was just frightened, paranoid to believe she'd heard anything other than a bird or the breeze settling the ropes. But it was real. A genuine voice, quiet but deep and guttural and frightening in a way it might never have been outside of the Arena. She edged as far forward as she dared, curious to hear but not stupid enough to show herself in any way.

"… dick-move. It's almost funny. What's your game?"

The second voice was even quieter, calm in a way that was odd and _off_ somehow, in a way she couldn't put her finger on. She strained closer to the platform edge to listen.

"… shouldn't have been hard for _you_ Gally. You had them cornered _and_ outnumbered and somehow you still fucked it up." There was a mocking chuckle, smug and cutting. "Lost your edge already, shuck-face?"

Brenda found to her surprise that there had been a smirk curling onto her mouth. She listened to her heart pounding, to the sound of that deep voice- _Gally_ , that horrid huge boy with death in his eyes - as it growled back. There was something strange, something ridiculously appealing about the second voice. Even in the Arena, even there as she hid mere feet above them, sure to die if they found her, there was something in that voice, that tone that made her want to smile. To laugh. To join it in mocking a tribute who could slaughter her without so much as blinking.

For some bizarre reason it made her just a fraction less afraid. The tribute had a clear disliking for Gally. That was something Brenda could get behind. And for what it was worth, which was very little in reality, it seemed the second tribunate was dry and sarcastic. So much like her father it made her homesick. So much like Teresa that she wondered if she was wrong in assessing the voice to be male.

Regardless, she shook herself. She had to focus on what they were talking about. It might save her skin. She needed to get a better grip on her wits. _Focus_ , dammit!

"Look who's talking." Gally answered him, sounding mocking himself. "Shacking up with Gladers, now _that's_ losing your edge."

Brenda swore her heart stopped at the word. The owner of the second voice had been around Gladers? What? Her heart began to hammer again as she felt dread for her district-mates. She had watched the skies every night, waiting for the inevitable and wondering if she would live long enough to see one of her friends up there, or whether she'd be the first to go. Neither option was all that appealing.

"Fared better than your shuck-ass posse though, didn't I?" Voice Number Two snorted.

Gally growled, and there was a scuffling sound that had Brenda's heart in her throat. She listened, picking out grunting and curses, almost certain she was hearing a fight. She was beginning to feel hysterical, trapped like a flightless bird three levels above the ground with nothing but the swinging rope nets between her and the ground and those tributes between the base of the structure and her freedom in the sands. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself as she listened and waited for something, _anything_ , to make them go away so that she could get down.

If Gally was there it was bad news, because he was the Career who was usually off doing the hunting for the other tributes while the others stayed behind. Brenda had watched them from the open Doors of the Maze for the last three mornings, and he had quickly risen to the top of her Must Avoid At All Costs list. Because it truly sounded like he enjoyed being here, in the Arena. And Brenda knew her chances against such a huge and well-trained tribute were practically non-existent. He'd squash her like a bug and probably be pleased with himself for doing so, if his hatred of Gladers was as real as it sounded.

There was a muffled howl and someone spat a curse just as Brenda picked up the sound of someone running away. She held her breath as the tribute left below grumbled and groaned, moving around in the grassy dirt. Her heart was going wild again and she faint faintly sick. The boy below could be dying right now and here she was, hiding quietly above him. Every instinct urged her to look over the metal edge to see. There was an itching to help scuttling up her spine even as logic told her doing so would be shuck stupid.

"Crank." the tribute spat again, and Brenda didn't know whether to hope it was Gally or not.

It would serve him right to have lost whatever fight he had just had, but on the other hand she dreaded to address the possibility that he was still there. She looked up towards the dawn sky and tried to ignore the growing danger she was in.

"You know, I thought your size would make you pretty hard to overcome." commented a familiar voice, and Brenda's breath caught in her throat as she jumped a little.

There was someone down there, so close she could hear her quiet footsteps in the grass.

"Seems I was wrong."

Teresa's voice was light and airy in that way she had when she was mocking someone. Breezy with a keen edge, like a razor blade slicing through spring air. What on earth was she doing in the Centre? Out in the open like that made her a huge target for the Careers. Brenda wasn't foolish enough to believe they'd given up their goal of slaughtering the Gladers. She had already seen first hand that they were not best pleased to be the first Careers in history to allow their Glade-district opponents to survive the first night. If she hadn't been in such a dangerous place Brenda might still have felt victorious about that small detail.

But triumph had very swiftly given away to true horror at the place she was in, fear and exhaustion battling hunger and all of it leaving her constantly on edge like a violin string ready to snap. She had barely escaped with her life on Day Three.

Brenda listened as the boy gave a frightening chuckle, spitting loudly. She cringed as she heard it hit the ground and wondered if it was blood. He did sound pretty wounded, and he sounded like Gally. A shockingly fierce hope that he was dying struck her, and instantly gave way to disgust at herself. True, he would most definitely kill her first chance he got, and true she did hate him. But she felt sick, wishing him dead like that. She closed her eyes against it. The Arena didn't just kill tributes. It twisted them too. It killed their souls if they stayed alive long enough.

"What, come along to try and off me when I'm down? I wouldn't be fooled by blood, _Glader_. I'll still kill you."

Teresa simply laughed at his threat, and Brenda wished she could risk a look just to see what the raven-haired girl was playing at. Gally was dangerous, even when wounded. Teresa should be keeping her distance like Brenda wished she had. The smaller girl bit her lip hard to stop herself from calling down a warning to her. She was no use at all in helping. All she would do was get herself killed.

Knowing that didn't stop her from feeling guilty, though.

"I don't doubt you'd try." came Teresa's reply, far too calm for Brenda's liking but a relief to hear just the same.

At least she was alive.

"But I didn't come to kill you."

Brenda's eyes popped open in surprise. She listened to Gally as he shifted, and she felt him slump heavily against one wall of the warehouse structure. He was wounded with more than just a scratch, or he was acting it anyway. Brenda's pulse thrummed in her ear as she bit a deeper furrow into her lip. The want to warn Teresa grew steadily.

"Oh?" Gally huffed, pushing off from the way again. "Not even going to try and pretend Gladers have a chance?" he laughed, wicked and mean.

Brenda heard Teresa make a familiar, unimpressed sound. She knew the girl enough to know she'd just rolled her eyes and drawn Gally one of her spectacularly loathing looks. She could tell by the way Gally growled in reply. Teresa merely laughed again.

"I came to offer you a deal." Teresa said, tone bland as though she were checking her nails but Brenda wasn't fooled, her ears straining as she held her breath.

Teresa's voice had that undertone to it that she had when she dealt with people she didn't truly care for. It was level and polite, but empty. Brenda had never believed Teresa to be some innocent little angel, she wasn't stupid. But she'd never thought Teresa would be idiotic enough to confront a Career, even if he were wounded. What was she playing at?

"What could a shucking _Glader_ have that I want?"

Gally spat the word like it were disgusting, and Brenda felt herself bristling even though she knew it was stupid to do so. What was she going to do, jump down and punch him because he spoke about her district in a condescending tone? Be realistic here, Brenda!

"Well for one I have bandages and medical supplies." Teresa demurred. "And secondly I have a proposition I think you'll like."

There was a pause in the air, heavy with curiosity and foreboding.

"Like what?"

Brenda felt like shouting it along with him as Teresa paused. Like _what_ , Teresa? What kind of proposition do you risk your life for? Brenda felt like she'd run the full length of the Arena she was so out of breath, her heart racing as she waited, silent in her hiding spot.

"Like being the last Glader standing, that's what."


End file.
